' 


,.n 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


Una 


Traditoonaljlir 


rr 


ttto?  iiuaur  ilore  lasting 
Hoto  nf  the  Stria 


Poem  fcp  A  P.  Craves 


p   rf- 


1    I  ve  heard  the  lark's  cry  thrill  the     sky     oW   the 


cresc. 


mea-dows    of      Lusk,  And  the    first      joy  -  cms 


gush      of       the     thrush  from  A     -     dan&A-pril 


wood,     At    thy      lone     mu  -  sio's   spell,     Phi  -  lo 


mel,    ma-gic  strick-en  Ive  stood,\Vhen  in  Bs  -  pan  a- 

_ 

far    star   on      star     tr em-bled      out    of   the.  dusk 

2. 
Tel  as  bright  shadows  pass  from  the  glass  of  the 

darkening  lake 
As  the  rose^  rapt  sigh  must  die  when 

the  zephyr  is  stilled; 
In  oblivion,  grey  sleeps  each  lay  that 

those  birds  ever  trilled, 

But  the  songs  Erin  sings  from  her  strings  shall 
immortally  wake. 


Che 

I)RUK>  Penh 

In, 

HARAH  ELLIS  RYAN 


DECORATED     BY 
WILL   VREELAMD 


A.C.McCLURG&CO. 
CHICAGO 


Copyright 

A..  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1917 

Published  January,  1917 
Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Druid  Path 1 

The   Enchanting   of   Doirenn 35 

Liadan  and  Kurithir 101 

Dervail   Nan  Ciar 141 

Randuff  of  Cumanac 229 

The   Dark   Rose 267 


371Co-t 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

HADRAIG,  son  of  Nihil  of  the  Ua  Dinan, 
held  silent  his  white  hound  on  the  hill 
of  Cromm  Cm,  and  looked  down  the  far 
valley  of  blue  mists  where  the  sea  of  the 
west  rolled  in. 

Back  beyond  the  sweet-smelling  reaches  of  the 
heather  he  could  hear  the  bay  of  the  hounds  of  his  uncle 
Kieran,  Tiern  over  North  Tormond.  He  could  no  longer 
hear  the  clink  of  their  silver  bridles,  nor  the  laughter  of 
their  ladies,  nor  the  scream  of  hawk  on  dove. 

But  the  hill  of  the  ancient  god  was  a  sweet  place  in  the 
silence,  and  he  rested  there,  and  made  him  a  pillow  of  fern 

—  and  listened  to  the  soft  breath  of  the  wind  in  the  rowan 
tree.    Its  sigh  of  love  for  the  green  earth  was  a  sweet  song, 
and  he  slept  there  to  that  music,  while  the  sun  rushed 
beyond  the  wide  seas  of  the  west,  and  soft-footed  dusk 
crept  after,  filling  all  the  hollows  with  the  gray  web  in 
which  the  night  is  held. 

A  curious  dream  of  white  birds  came  to  him  there;  the 
dream  had  come  to  him  before,  yet  not  with  clearness  — 
and  in  the  dream  was  a  dusk  path  in  an  ancient  wood, 
and  a  well  there  —  a  well  rising  and  sinking  with  the  tide, 
and  a  vision  of  a  maid  moving  before  him  into  the  shadows 

—  a  vision  swathed  in  a  white  cloud,  with  hidden  face 
but  a  voice  in  which  was  held  all  the  music  of  beauty  of 
life  in  all  the  world.    His  soul  was  as  a  harp  on  which  that 
music  played,  and  his  body  was  but  as  a  shell  left  behind 

[1] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


while  the  wings  of  harmony  lifted  him  —  lifted  until  he 
was  borne  as  a  cloud  far  from  the  touch  of  the  earth  — 
and  he  heard  a  word  over  and  over  in  his  ear,  until  he 
strove  with  might  to  echo  it,  and  then,  in  the  striving, 
the  smell  of  the  heather  was  again  in  his  nostrils,  and  the 
forefeet  of  the  white  hound  were  on  his  breast,  and  above 
him  a  star  shone  in  the  soft  rose  of  the  sky. 

He  lay  entranced,  thrilled  by  the  ecstasy  of  the  perfect 
dream,  and  somewhere  from  the  very  earth  came  a  song 
to  his  ear  and  an  earth  echo  of  the  word  he  had  striven 
for  and  missed.  And  this  was  the  song  he  heard  — 

Make  strong  your  charms  against  Danaan, 

Danaan  of  the  snowy  breast, 
Who  lured  the  souls  of  the  Gods  of  Old 

To  the  land  of  the  mystic  west. 

The  voices  were  those  of  two  boys,  and  with  them  was 
an  old  shepherd  who  bore  fire  in  a  strange  bowl  of  thin 
carven  stone,  and  in  the  arms  of  the  boys  were  dry  heather 
and  branches  of  yew.  And  in  fear  they  let  fall  the  yew  at 
sight  of  Phadraig,  and  at  sight  of  his  white  hound  beside 
him. 

"  Peace  to  you, "  spake  Phadraig.  "  And  who  be  you  to 
sing  here  a  song  of  charms?  And  who  is  Danaan?" 

"A  blessing  of  all  saints  on  you  from  Jerusalem  to 
Innis  Gluair, "  spake  the  ancient  who  bore  the  fire.  "  We 
bear  here  boughs  for  the  puring  fires  of  Beltain,  and  the 
mothers  of  these  boys  bade  them  make  a  prayer  and  sing 
the  song  ere  they  crossed  the  three  magic  circles  of  the 
Tor  of  Cromm  Cru." 

"And  is  this  that  hill?"  asked  Phadraig.  "As  a  child- 
ling  they  tell  me  I  was  nursed  in  sight  of  it,  but  never 
before  have  I  stood  on  it,  and  who  made  the  song  of  the 
charm?" 

"One  of  the  anointed  of  the  saints  who  loved  every 

[2] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


plain  and  black  crag  and  forest  dell  between  us  and  the 
sea.  It  was  no  other  than  Nihil  of  the  Deep  Wood." 

"  Strange,  that  is,"  said  Phadraig,  the  son  of  Nihil,  "  other 
songs  of  that  singer  I  have  been  taught,  but  never  this 
one  until  I  hear  it  as  in  a  dream  in  this  strange  place ;  and 
look,  there  are  white  sea  birds  against  the  stars  —  and 
they  also  were  of  the  dream." 

"  On  the  night  of  Beltain  strange  power  is  abroad  —  and 
strange  dreams!  And  what  is  the  name  of  you  who  ven 
ture  to  sleep  on  the  hill  of  the  ancient  gods  in  the  dusk 
of  this  day?" 

And  when  Phadraig  told  him,  the  old  herdsman  would 
have  knelt,  but  Phadraig  took  his  hand  and  spoke  to  him 
in  kindness,  yet  could  get  from  him  no  other  word  as  to 
the  song  of  Danaan. 

"  Go  to  Roiseen  of  the  Glen,  the  wise  woman  down  by 
the  sea,"  he  said.  "  She  was  nurse  to  you  and  knows  all 
your  father  Nihil  would  have  had  you  know  of  the  names 
of  the  ancient  gods  of  the  land." 

"But  Danaan  was  the  name  of  a  people  —  the  old,  old 
people,  soul  brothers  to  the  fairies!" 

"  Ay  —  it  may  be.  And  may  not  a  people  have  a  spirit, 
as  has  a  person?  Have  we  not  our  own  this  day  in  Erinn, 
our  Mother  of  the  Land  ?  Ask  me  no  more,  O  Lord  of  the 
Ua  Dinan,  but  go  you  down  to  Roiseen  of  the  Glen,  and 
peace  go  with  you." 

And  with  his  white  hound  at  his  heels  and  one  of  the 
shepherd  boys  as  guide,  Phadraig  took  trail  to  the  sea  glen 
and  would  have  gone  through  a  deep  wood  in  the  valley, 
but  the  boy  drew  back. 

"  Not  there,  my  lord,"  said  he. 

"  Yet  it  is  the  shorter  way." 

"  No  way  is  shorter  if  you  never  come  out  alive,  O  Lord 
of  the  Ua  Dinan." 

[3] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

"What  abides  within  the  wood?" 

"  No  living  thing,  my  lord,  but  the  water  in  the  Druid's 
well,  and  it  pulses  there  as  if  it  might  be  the  heartbeat 
of  the  ocean  beyond,  yet  the  water  is  not  salt." 

"This  is  a  land  of  strange  riddles  I  am  coming  back  to 
this  day,"  said  Phadraig,  "but  do  you  not  hear  music  in 
the  wood  —  or  is  it  the  wind  through  the  new  buds?" 

"  The  priest  tells  us  it  is  the  winds,  or  the  waves,  or  the 
night  birds  in  their  shelter,  and  that  is  the  thing  we  must 
say,"  said  the  boy,  and  neither  of  them  spoke  of  the  white 
birds  above  them  against  the  sky. 

To  Phadraig  it  was  as  if  he  had  walked  into  a  new  life 
from  the  hour  he  slept  on  the  western  hill  of  Cromm  Cru. 
And  all  the  path  of  it  held  music  to  make  the  heart  glad  of 

life yet  sad  with  inarticulate  yearnings.    The  life  of  the 

halls  of  Kieran  was  left  behind,  and  he  trod  the  heath  as  an 
exile  returned. 

In  the  cot  of  Roiseen  of  the  Glen  there  was  a  rabbit 
stewing  on  the  hearth,  and  Roiseen  herself  spinning  the 
silver  flax  at  the  open  door  in  the  starlight. 

"  Oh,  is  it  yourself  come  back  on  your  own  feet  to  greet 
me  this  day?"  she  said,  and  wept  with  very  gladness,  and 
kissed  the  young  hand  of  him.  But  he  kissed  her  brown 
cheek  instead,  and  they  talked  long  after  the  shepherd 
boy  was  asleep  in  the  forest  leaves  in  the  byre. 

But  it  was  not  that  night  of  Beltain  that  Phadraig  asked 
of  the  unknown  things,  for  he  had  noted  the  salt  sprinkled 
on  the  threshold  to  bar  out  influences  of  the  old  gods;  so 
that  night  they  talked  of  Nihil,  dead  ere  he  had  seen  his 
son,  and  Kreda,  his  wife,  dead  at  the  birthing,  and  all  the 
grandeurs  of  the  house  of  the  Ua  Dinan  where  Phadraig 
had  lived  his  life  of  training  for  the  work  of  a  chief.  Yet 
out  of  it  all  he  had  come  back  with  the  heart  of  a  boy,  and 
sat  on  a  three-legged  stool  at  the  door  of  Roiseen,  and 

[4] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


fashioned  a  flute  of  alder-wood,  and  piped  on  it  in  the 
sunshine  of  the  morning. 

Then,  when  the  milk  was  put  away,  and  Roiseen  settled 
with  the  distaff  and  the  whirling  strands,  he  spoke  the 
name  singing  in  his  heart. 

"  Mother  Roiseen,  it  is  to  you  I  am  coming  with  a  thing 
to  ask:  who  is  Danaan  of  the  birds  of  white?" 

"That  you  should  ask  it,  and  you  with  the  name  of  a 
saint  on  you!  Get  you  to  your  hawking  or  hunting  the 
deer !  And  see  that  you  pluck  primroses  to  scatter  at  your 
door  this  night  that  the  Ancient  People  send  you  no  call 
of  Danaan  —  the  men  who  follow  the  call  wander  far." 

"  To  the  land  of  the  mystic  west  do  they  wander?  " 

"Ay,  that  they  do;  far  over  the  green  meadows  of  the 
waters  where  the  horses  of  Lir  have  their  pastures.  From 
the  cliff  below  you  can  see  them  running  in  races  endlessly 
to  the  shore." 

"I  see  the  waves  run  in,"  said  Phadraig,  but  she  was 
not  to  be  fooled. 

"  Ay,  and  more  than  the  waves  to  you,  as  to  your  father ! 
But  you  are  idling  in  thought,  Phadraig,  son  of  Nihil." 

"What  other  task  when  there  is  peace  in  Tormond? 
And  the  Ua  Dinan,  as  you  mayhaps  have  heard,  cannot 
abide  the  sight  of  me  near  his  ailing  son,  and  Kethlen  his 
wife,  bitter  as  gall  because  she  has  borne  a  weakling." 

"True  that  is.  You  stand  in  their  eyes  as  a  threat  at 
the  crowns  they  wear." 

"  To  me  a  pipe  on  the  hills  instead,  and  the  songs  of  my 
father  to  sing!  Roiseen,  why  has  the  song  of  Danaan 
never  been  given  me?" 

"  That  name  has  been  through  the  ages  a  hated  word  to 
the  women  of  your  house  and  in  each  generation  they 
try  to  smother  it  out." 

"And  why  is  that?" 

C5] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


"  It  gave  a  youth  the  seeking  eye  and  the  wandering 
foot,  and  it  was  said  to  keep  young  the  heart  of  a  man 

when  all  his  mates  went  tottering  under  the  sod.  No 

the  women  could  not  abide  the  thought  of  that,  and  they 
smother  it  out.  Ay,  that  is  the  way  with  the  woman- 
heart." 

"  Mother  Roiseen,  there  is  a  deer  for  you  in  the  forest. 
Shall  Snard  and  I  bring  it  in  tomorrow's  morn  ?  " 

And  the  white  hound,  hearing  his  name  spoken,  flailed 
the  floor  with  his  tail  and  rose  up  and  waited. 

"To  what  would  you  bribe  me,  Phadraig,  my  heart?" 

"To  peace  and  content  while  I  tell  you  I  heard  the  song 
of  Danaan  on  the  hill  of  Cromm  Cru  in  the  dusk  of  Bel- 
tain —  and  I  felt  the  music  that  all  the  songs  of  Nihil, 
my  father,  could  not  give  voice  to,  and  in  my  dream  I 
looked  in  that  Druid  well  of  the  wood,  and  saw  the  heart 
of  the  ocean  beat  there  under  the  stars!  All  this  carne 
to  me  by  chance  in  the  place  of  fire  to  Beltain,  so  mine 
is  the  right  to  ask  what  I  ask." 

And  Roiseen,  the  wise  woman,  looked  on  him  and  made 
the  sign  and  plucked  primroses  for  her  door. 

"Yours  is  the  right,"  she  said,  "come  you  away  from 
the  house  and  out  under  the  hawthorn  tree  and  what  I  can 
say  with  no  hurt  to  the  saints  and  their  faith,  that  I  will. 
It  is  said  that  while  many  a  family  trace  in  pride  their 
fathers  to  the  ancient  barbarians,  few  trace  their  descent 
from  yon  Wise  Ones  who  took  themselves  into  the  air 
with  their  own  enchantment  sooner  than  be  conquered. 
This  I  heard  when  I  was  a  girl  in  the  home  of  the  king, 
your  father's  father.  But  Nihil  of  the  songs  learned  much 
from  a  master  of  tricks,  an  aged  man  who  said  he  had 
lived  on  the  earth  in  other  days  when  the  sea  covered  all 
this  valley,  and  that  this  was  the  last  edge  of  the  land 
where  the  Danaan  lived  on  the  earth  as  people,  and  ate 

[6] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


the  honey  of  bees,  and  drank  the  water  of  the  Druid  well 
in  the  wood  beyond." 

"  Ay,"  said  Phadraig,  and  he  looked  over  the  green  vel 
vet  of  the  valley  running  down  to  meet  the  white  foam  of 
the  sea,  white  as  the  hawthorn  bloom  above  them,  and 
from  the  dark  hills  he  looked  to  the  islands  beyond,  and 
it  was  all  a  sweet  picture  of  summer  under  the  blue  sky. 
"Ay,  Mother  Roiseen,  of  all  places  in  the  whole  world 
where  would  they  find  another  spot  so  fair?  In  truth,  I 
believe  your  word  that  it  is  the  last  corner  of  the  land 
they  could  let  go  to  the  hard  people  of  the  iron  pikes." 

"So  it  was,  the  last  place  they  let  go  of  —  and  they 
lingered  long  after  the  stranger-people  swept  over  the 
land  to  the  east.  And  to  your  father,  Nihil,  came  a  *  send 
ing  '  of  sight  through  fasting,  and  enchantments  of  music, 
until  he  spoke  aloud  the  word  no  other  dared  ever  to  speak 
for  them." 

"And  what  was  that  word,  Mother  of  the  Glen?" 

"It  was  of  a  bond  of  birth  and  blood  between  the  Ua 
Dinan  and  the  Tuathe  de  Danaan,  but  the  legend  of  it  is 
against  all  Christian  teachings  —  and  we  are  Christian  now 
in  Erinn." 

Phadraig  looked  up  to  the  mount  of  the  Druid  god 
where  fires  of  propitiation  had  burned  but  a  night  agone. 

"  Ay,  so  we  say,"  he  agreed,  "  but  tell  me  more  of  Nihil 
and  his  song  of  Danaan." 

"  He  all  but  had  the  ban  of  the  Bishop  of  Clare  put  on 
him  —  and  it  was  backed  by  some  of  his  own  blood  whose 
names  I  will  not  speak,  for  it  is  evil  to  speak  against  the 
dead!  They  were  mortal  shamed  to  be  thought  of  the 
blood  or  the  spirit  of  enchanters,  the  while  Nihil  was  so 
proud  of  it  that  church  itself  was  called  to  the  question. 
That  was  a  time  of  trial !  For  there  was  your  mother,  the 
Lady  Kreda  of  Kilfernora,  not  yet  either  wife  or  mother, 

171 


THE: DRUID  PATH 

but  loving  him  and  holding  him  to  church,  and  there  was 
the  bishop  with  his  power  to  bless  or  ban,  and  there  was 
Nihil  stout  in  rebellion  against  all  but  the  sweet  Lady 
Kreda.  For  his  word  was  this :  that  if  all  the  mothers  for 
a  thousand  years  could  not  stamp  out  the  call  of  Danaan 
in  the  heart  of  a  man,  was  it  not  proof  that  it  was  a  bond 
of  the  spirit,  and  was  for  good  and  not  for  evil?" 

"And  then?" 

"  He  was  banished  to  a  forest  cell  for  a  year  and  a  day 

for  expiation,  and  that  was  the  time  the  Lady  Kreda  chose 

to  ride  beside  him  and  do  penance  beside  him.    And,  at 

the  last,  to  pleasure  her,  he  made  the  song  of  warning 

against  Danaan,  and  he  went  into  the  forest  away  from 

the  sea,  but  he  was  never  the  same  man  after!    A  true 

singer  sings  only  the  songs  in  his  heart,  and  that  was 

the  song  made  at  the  word  of  another,  for  he,  Nihil,  had 

walked  the  Druid  Path  to  the  well  over  back  of  beyond, 

and  the  white  sea  birds  of  Danaan  had  come  to  him  there, 

and  he  heard  music  of  sweetness  in  the  closed  hills  where 

the  Ancient  People  are  waiting  to  this  day  and  holding 

secret  the  sacred  things  shut  in  for  the  people  of  the 

future  who  will  see  as  your  father  Nihil  saw.    That  was 

his  word  of  it  many  a  day  as  he  walked  above  yon  cliff,  or 

up  to  the  hill  of  Cromm  Cru.    And  the  priests  beyond  could 

do   naught  with   him,   though   your   mother   hated   the 

thoughts  he  spoke,  as  did  all  the  women  of  your  race 

of  the  Ua  Dinan." 

"  Mayhaps  they  were  but  jealous  of  a  knowledge  no 

them." 

"  Mayhaps,  for  true  it  is  the  Lady  Kreda  loved  wel 
songs  when  he  was  wooing  under  her  window  there  in 
Kilfernora  but  turned  away  her  head  when  the  songs 
were  of  things  not  of  her  ken." 

"  I  have  had  few  years,  yet  I  have  lived  to  see  that  with 

[8] 


THE  DRUID  PAtBLp; 

other  lives,"  said  Phadraig.  "What  power  may  a  man 
gain  for  the  world  if  he  only  sing  songs  of  love  to  a  mis 
tress  who  only  smiles  from  a  window?" 

"  You  are  older  than  your  years,  Phadraig,  my  heart, 
else  it  would  not  be  myself  sitting  here  under  the  haw 
thorn  telling  you  the  ancient  things  that  the  priests  tell 
us  are  false  things." 

"  I  do  not  think  in  my  heart  they  are  false,"  said  Pha 
draig,  son  of  Nihil.  "  Into  the  forest  I  am  going  now  for 
your  deer,  Mother  of  the  Glen,  and  then,  till  the  next 
day  of  Samhain,  I  will  live  in  the  open  to  give  proof  to  my 
own  heart  that  Nihil,  my  father,  saw  true,  and  spoke 
true." 

And  thus  did  he,  though  his  kinsmen  raged  and  their 
women  told  the  priests,  and  the  Ua  Dinan  tore  down  the 
stone  of  Cromm  Cru  from  the  mount  and  broke  it  into 
pieces  with  iron  chisels  —  for  it  is  well  known  that  spirits 
of  the  Tuathe  de  Danaan  hate  the  touch  of  the  iron 
brought  into  the  land  by  the  barbarians. 

But  Phadraig  with  his  pipe  of  alder  was  somewhere  in 
the  deep  wood  with  only  the  white  hound  and  his  dreams 
and  his  calls  to  the  tamed  sea  birds  on  the  cliffs,  and  never 
a  sight  could  kindred  get  of  him  unless  it  was  in  a  boat, 
dancing  on  the  far  waves  toward  Inis  Mor  —  or  high  on 
the  hill  where  the  forest  veiled  him  if  any  tried  to 
follow. 

And  a  wail  went  up  from  the  shepherds  that  year,  for 
the  murrain  got  the  sheep  despite  of  all,  and  some  wells 
went  dry,  and  the  herders  gave  sullen  looks  to  the  virtu 
ous  lords  and  ladies  who  had  done  that  pious  work  in 
tearing  down  Cromm  Cru  of  the  Tor. 

And  one  day  there  came  to  Roiseen  of  the  Glen  a  lady 
riding  on  a  white  horse  with  golden  trapping.  Her  eyes 
were  dark  with  desire  and  her  braided  hair  had  the  gold 

[9] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

of  the  sun  glinting  its  brown  shadows.    With  her  came  a 
priest  of  the  south  whose  looks  were  down  and  ill. 

"  I  am  Yva  of  Kilf ernora, "  said  the  maid,  with  a  blush 
sweeping  her  face.  "  Have  you,  O  woman,  speech  with 
Phadraigof  the  Wilds?" 

"That   was   the   place  his   mother   came   from,     sai< 
Roiseen  of  the  Glen,  "and  I  have  seen  no  sign  of  him  this 
seven  days,  barring  the  white  sea  birds  hovering  over  the 
forest  of  the  Druid  well." 

"Woman,"  said  the  priest,  "what  would  drive  sea  birds 
to  the  forest  on  days  like  this?" 

"  Ay,  it  is  a  big  question,  your  holiness,  and  a  thousand 
years  have  not  given  us  the  answer." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  blasphemy  of  enchantment  too  strong 
for  church  to  conquer?" 

"I  would  not  dare,  your  holiness ;  mayhaps  it  is  that 
church  has  not  striven.     Sea  birds  are  a  small  thing  to 
take  note  of  after  all." 

"O  woman,"  said  Yva  the  brown-eyed,  "will  you  t 
him  I  have  ridden  the  horse  he  loved  to  these  wilds 
loves,  that  he  may  know  my  message  is  a  true  message 
and  that  I  watch  from  my  window  ever  to  these  hill 
the  north?"  , 

"That  he  may  find  the  way  to  that  window,  C 
"  Ay  that  he  may  find  the  way.    The  Ua  Dinan  and  the 
head  of  my  clan  have  clasped  hands  and  emptied  bowls 
of  mead  on  the  pact,  and  I  bring  my  own  message 

'"How  great  is  your  patience,  Yva  of  Kilfernora?"  asked 
old  Roiseen  of  the  Glen,  and  the  priest  frowned  at  1 
forwardness  of  the  peasant,  but  Yva  of  the  dark  tresi 
leaned  forward  in  the  saddle. 

"What  mean  you?"  she  asked,  her  lips  red  and  pa: 
over  white  teeth. 

[10] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


"Would  you  take  him  as  Nihil,  his  father,  was  taken, 
with  his  quest  not  finished,  nor  his  heart  content?" 

"  Nihil,  the  Singer,  died,'*  said  Yva,  her  eyes  staring. 

"Ay,  he  died!  With  love  beside  him  —  earthly  love 
keeping  step,  yet  not  understanding,  he  died !  Would  you 
fain  have  Phadraig,  son  of  Nihil,  dead  by  your  side  or  alive 
and  free  to  choose  after  he  has  made  the  circle  that  was 
broken  for  Nihil?" 

"  Woman  —  are  you  taking  on  yourself  the  weighing  of 
a  soul?"  demanded  the  priest  in  anger.  "What  blas 
phemy  is  this  of  lives  in  circles  and  like  enchantments? 
Is  it  evil  craft  of  Druid  witcheries  by  which  the  young 
lord  of  the  Ua  Dinan  is  held  here  in  the  wilds?  " 

"  I  have  not  dared  to  ask  him  that  myself,"  said  Roiseen 
of  the  Glen.  "But  I  am  an  old  woman,  and  I  know  the 
men  of  the  Ua  Dinan  —  and  their  women,  too!  By  bell 
and  book  and  candle  their  women  have  driven  out  or 
smothered  a  wild  Something  in  the  blood  of  the  Ua  Dinan 
of  the  west  land,  until  the  clan  is  weak  this  day  because  of 
it!  They  have  not  dared  dream  their  own  dreams  lest  they 
range  beyond  the  church  rules  and  the  women  they  wive ; 
and  what  man  does  any  great  thing  without  the  Dream  — 
or  woman,  either  ?  O  Lady  of  Kilfernora,  you  are  beauti 
ful  as  the  wild  rose  on  the  heath,  and  there  are  many  chiefs 
to  break  a  lance  at  your  nod ;  better  to  give  your  glove  to 
any  one  of  them,  than  enchain  an  Ua  Dinan  before  he  has 
followed  the  Dream  till  it  makes  the  circle." 

The  priest  was  prone  to  chide  such  speech,  as  was  his 
duty,  but  Yva  of  Kilfernora  put  out  her  ringed  hand. 

"  She  speaks  truly,  and  I  see  it,"  she  said.  "No  one  has 
ever  spoken  thus  to  me  before  today.  Think  back,  rev 
erend  father,  over  the  years:  Nihil  dead  with  his  songs 
half  written ;  the  king,  his  brother,  a  man  of  gloom  with 
a  crippled  child;  the  old  king,  his  father,  tired  of  rule  and 

[11] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


in  a  monastery  ere  his  time;  yet,  all  these  men  were  strong 
in  youth  and  to  the  fore  in  wild  beauty.  Not  until  now 
has  anyone  dared  read  me  that  riddle  of  the  Ua  Dinan. 
Woman,  you  are  wise  and  you  have  Yva  of  Kilfernora  for 
your  friend.  I  ride  back  and  dream  my  own  dream,  and 
leave  him  all  the  freedom  of  his.  Fare  you  well  ! " 

"Now  indeed  may  a  great  day  come  again  to  the  chil 
dren  of  the  Ua  Dinan,"  said  Roiseen  of  the  Glen.  She 
went  back  to  the  spinning  of  her  flax,  with  a  great  jewel 
hidden  in  her  bosom,  let  fall  there  by  Yva  of  the  dark  hair 
and  the  burning  eyes. 

And  in  the  green-gray  dusk  of  the  twilight  there  was 
the  flash  of  white  wings  against  streaks  of  yellow  sky,  and 
the  white  hound  came  down  the  glen  by  the  sheep  path, 
and  Phadraig  the  wanderer,  with  a  hare  of  the  hills  ready 
for  the  twigs  over  the  roasting  fire. 

"Art  tired  of  the  quest,  Phadraig?" 

"Nay,  not  that,  Mother  of  the  Glen.  I  am  no  longer 
alone,  though  I  cannot  tell  you  what  walks  beside  me." 

"None  of  us  can,  and  for  lack  of  faith  few  can  feel 
them,"  agreed  Roiseen. 

"  But  Nihil,  my  father,  spoke  truth,  we  do  belong,"  said 
Phadraig.  "Once  I  saw  the  shadow  of  her  in  the  Druid 
well  in  the  moon's  light,  but  the  face  was  still  veiled  for 
me,  but  the  music  is  piercing  sweet,  and  I  would  I  had 
my  father's  gift  to  catch  and  hold  it." 

He  would  eat  not  any  of  the  hare,  but  drank  fresh  milk 
from  the  cow  and  stood  at  the  door  looking  tired  and 
white  in  the  starlight. 

"  May  I  let  stay  Snard,  the  hound,  with  you?  "  he  asked. 
"  He  is  weary  of  my  trail,  and  will  not  walk  in  my  paths ; 
only  today  did  I  learn  I  was  cruel  to  him;  and  tomorrow 
is  the  feast  of  Samhain,  and  where  I  go  I  cannot  say,  but 
I  think  it  is  not  for  Snard  to  follow  me." 

[12] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


"Phadraig,  my  heart,  do  you  ever  think  of  someone 
there  in  the  south,  who  — " 

"Ay,  Roiseen.  I  thought  of  them  all  today  when  a 
storm  cloud  swept  in  from  the  sea  with  a  clammy  cold  in 
it.  For  it  was  not  so  cold  as  the  welcome  in  my  kinsman's 
home  lest  the  day  come  when  I  claim  rule  there." 

"  Ay,"  said  Roiseen  of  the  Glen.  "  That  is  a  picture  we 
all  see  some  days  in  life,  but  Time  is  a  good  story 
teller,  Phadraig  aroon,  and  I'll  wait  the  other  day  when 
the  sun  shines  for  you  and  the  human  call  comes." 

"  You  are  the  only  human  thing,  Roiseen,"  he  said,  and 
touched  her  hair.  "  You  understand." 

"  How  did  you  tame  the  sea  birds  of  Danaan,  Phadraig, 
my  heart?"  she  asked,  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"I  only  spoke  to  them  as  I  would  to  Snard  —  some 
souls  have  the  gift  of  taming  —  that  is  all." 

"Ay,  your  father  had  it  before  you,"  she  said.  Then, 
as  he  turned  into  the  darkness,  she  spoke  again  as  she 
held  back  the  white  hound.  "  Do  you  look  to  come  back 
to  me  here,  Phadraig,  son  of  Nihil?" 

"  I  do,  Mother  of  the  Glen,  though  I  cannot  see  clearly 
the  path  I  may  come  —  or  when."' 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  she  said,  "  but  Phadraig,  take  this 
from  me  ere  you  go:  for  all  ills  of  youth  and  life  there 
grows  somewhere  an  herb ;  find  it,  Phadraig  aroon ;  search 
till  you  find!" 

But  he  went  across  through  the  night  to  the  hill  of 
Cromm  Cru,  singing  the  song  of  his  father  — 
O  white  Danaan  of  the  sea  birds, 

Danaan  of  the  snowy  breast! 
O  sweet  the  song  on  the  Druid  Path 

To  lead  me  to  her  nest! 
She  takes  my  hand  at  the  sea  marge, 

She  whispers  low  on  the  wind, 
She  sets  her  sail  for  Tir-nan-Ogue 
[13] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


"Ay,"  said  Roiseen,  twirling  the  spindle, 
And  leaves  dear  Life  behind! 

Then,  as  a  muttering  of  thunder  came  on  the  wind  from 
the  sea  and  a  flash  of  flame  cut  the  gray  of  the  sky,  she 
took  the  hound  within,  closing  the  door  on  the  night,  and 
chanted  the  song  of  Nihil,  as  a  prayer,  in  the  dim  light  of 
the  peat  blaze. 

Make  strong  your  charms  against  Danaan, 

Danaan  of  the  snowy  breast, 
Who  lured  the  souls  of  the  Gods  of  Old 

To  the  land  of  the  mystic  west. 

The  feast  of  Samhain  in  that  year  was  a  time  of  wonder, 
for  the  yew  branches  on  the  old  altar  place  of  Cromm  Cru 
were  struck  afire  by  the  lightning,  or  so  it  was  said.  All 
the  people,  fearful  of  the  crashing  thunder,  yet  clasped 
hands  in  a  circle  below  the  mount,  while  the  man  with 
fire  made  his  way  to  the  top  and  bent  to  place  it  when  the 
stroke  came.  The  blaze  from  the  sky  flashed  down,  and 
flamed  upward  again,  and  the  stunned  man  fell  downward 
among  his  mates  and  was  borne  in  fear  across  the  valley, 
and  all  knew  that  night  that  the  vengeance  of  Cromm  Cru 
of  the  Tor  could  be  a  thing  to  put  the  fear  of  death  on  any 
man.  Let  the  churchmen  say  their  say  'neath  every  bell 
in  Erinn,  it  would  not  change  any  man's  mind.  And  all 
had  known  it  as  a  sign  of  evil  to  come  when  the  altar  of 
the  Ancient  People  had  been  defaced. 

And  there  were  those,  fleeing  under  the  lightning 
flashes,  who  vowed  they  passed  Phadraig,  son  of  Nihil, 
running  before  the  wind  with  eager  gladness  in  his  face, 
and  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  and  chanting  the 
song  of  his  father  as  he  went  down  to  the  sea. 

O  white  Danaan  of  the  sea  birds, 
Danaan  of  the  snowy  breast! 
[14] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


And  the  white  birds  were  screaming  and  circling  above 
him  in  the  storm  as  he  sang  — 

She  takes  my  hand  at  the  sea  marge, 

She  whispers  low  on  the  wind, 
She  sets  her  sail  for  Tir-nan-Ogue  — 

And  then  a  great  wave  caught  the  currach  he  launched 
and  tossed  it  out  on  the  night,  and  the  white  ,foam  made 
the  curtain  and  hid  him  from  all  of  life. 


aGES  on  the  bosom  of  the  ocean  seemed  to  pass  over 
him  after  that  storm.  There  was  light,  and  then 
again  there  was  darkness,  but  he  knew  it  only 
through  closed  eyes  in  a  trance-like  dream.  He  was  con 
scious  ever  of  the  whir  of  wings  sweeping  over  his  face 
and  knew  the  sea  birds  were  there,  and  then  he  heard 
voices,  and  the  laughter  of  a  woman,  high  and  sweet  and 
mocking. 

The  movement  of  the  boat  ceased  as  it  grated  on  sand. 
There  was  a  sudden  silence,  and  the  sound  of  running  feet. 

"  But  what  use  to  try  ?  "  said  a  sweet,  tired  voice.  "  All 
white  things  go  to  Danaan,  and  look  :  every  bird  is 
white  ! " 

"  Danaan  comes  not  out  of  the  forest,  and  the  youth  is 
fair.  He  is  treasure  of  the  sea  on  our  shore;  if  for  her, 
the  birds  should  have  borne  him  into  the  lake  of  the 
pulsing  heart.  My  hand  shall  give  him  to  drink." 

Then  a  cup  was  held  to  his  lips,  a  drink  of  sweet-smell 
ing  fruits  was  offered  him.  He  did  not  drink.  He  was 
no  longer  in  a  boat;  but  in  a  lady's  bower  where  bloom 

[15] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

was  on  every  bough,  and  the  air  heavy  with  the  sweetness 
of  orchards. 

"Where  am  I?"  he  asked,  and  out  from  a  shadowy 
doorway  of  stone  a  tall  and  wondrous  woman  smiled  on 
him. 

"  You  are  in  the  Summer  Land  of  the  Long  Day,"  she 
said.  "  The  birds  of  the  sea  brought  you,  and  what  thing 
do  you  seek?  For  your  wishing  must  be  great  to  win  your 
way  here." 

"  I  do  not  know  the  thing  I  seek,"  said  Phadraig,  whose 
mind  was  veiled  from  the  things  that  had  been  lived.  "  I 
only  feel  that  I  shall  know  again  when  I  find  it. " 

44  Then  we  will  wander,  a-seeking,"  said  the  woman  of 
beauty,  and  took  his  hand. 

Whereupon,  without  seeming  to  take  a  step,  he  passed 
through  and  was  a  part  of  a  wonderful  people.  Their 
slightest  cup  was  of  gold,  and  many  wore  crowns  at  will, 
and  held  court  and  ordered  games  at  which  all  played 
merrily,  and  then  the  crowns  were  tossed  aside  as  a  part 
of  the  game  no  longer  amusing.  He  moved  with  his  mis 
tress,  whose  name  was  Una,  along  the  seashore  where 
pleasure  boats  were  held  without  rope,  and  he  found  him 
self  sitting  there  alone,  wondering  how  the  boats  were 
held  together,  for  there  was  no  iron  in  them,  and 
that  word  "iron"  was  the  first  word  his  mind  had  as  a 
link  with  the  old  life  and  changing  skies. 

For  the  skies  never  changed  in  the  Summer  Land  of 
the  Long  Day,  and  all  the  people  laughed  and  played 
games  as  if  to  pass  the  time  while  waiting.  No  one  told 
him  for  what,  and  when  he  asked,  Una  the  beautiful 
would  laugh  her  sweet  mocking  laugh  and  bid  him  to  her 

bower. 

"Other  earth  lovers  have  come  our  way,  but  none  like 
you,"  she  whispered.  "  Do  you  never  know  you  are  fairer 

[16] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


than  blossom  on  the  bough  — or  golden  fruit  of  living 
trees?" 

"Whence  came  your  orchards  where  no  one  labors?" 
he  asked,  and  she  laughed  again. 

"  They  are  the  fair  memory  of  the  sunken  world  to  the 
south  —  as  is  this  castle  of  stone  by  the  water's  edge,  for 
what  need  is  there  here  now  for  walls  of  stone  ?  " 

"Whose  hands  made  it  thus  strong  here  by  the  sea 
marge  ?  "  he  asked,  and  she  took  his  hand  and  held  it. 

"  Weary  would  you  fare  in  this  our  land  if  I  gave  you  all 
the  words  of  that  building,  for  it  is  ancient  as  the  very 
earth  of  which  you  came.  There  was  no  sea  at  the  walls 
in  that  day,  and  the  Great  White  Land  of  the  South  was 
in  the  midst  of  waters,  and  ruled  the  world.  Then  the 
lands  broke  away  and  the  waters  covered  it,  and  only  little 
lands  of  it  kept  above  the  waters  or  kept  the  old  gods. 
Your  Inis  Erinn  to  the  sun  side  of  the  world  was  one,  and 
another  one  far  on  the  sun-path  beyond  the  waters  is  one, 
but  the  links  between  have  been  forgot  by  the  people  of 
Earth.  It  all  lives  here  because  we  are  the  People  of  Mem 
ory.  We  went  out  from  your  Earth  Land  proudly,  letting 
the  body  and  the  soul  go  that  we  might  hold  memory  alone, 
and  in  that  memory  we  hold  only  Day  and  only  Summer." 

"Ay,"  said  Phadraig,  and  he  sat  a  long  time  in  the  tower 
looking  across  the  moat  where  the  tides  of  the  sea  swirled 
in,  "but  in  all  your  games  and  pleasuring,  is  it  not  that 
memory  holds  you  instead,  and  makes  you  as  endless 
slaves  to  the  Great  Past?  Would  it  not  be  rest  to  forget?" 

Upon  which  she  drew  away  from  him  and  screamed  at 
him  to  begone,  for  his  earth  thoughts  were  cruel  as  is  the 
iron  of  the  stranger-people  in  the  heart. 

He  wandered  away  from  that  place,  and  into  a  wood  — 
and  her  cries  came  after  him  calling  him  back,  but  he 
could  find  no  gate  to  the  moat  and  he  could  not  go  back. 

[17] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


Gay  companions  danced  about  him,  and  made  jeweled 
crowns  for  him  in  the  games  they  played,  but  he  looked  at 
the  white  birds  circling  above  him,  and  looked  at  the  sea, 
and  wondered  whence  they  had  led  him,  and  at  times  he 
could  close  his  eyes  and  see  them  circling  above  the  black 
cliffs  of  Erinn  though  he  had  no  memory  of  that  place. 

And  the  day  was  heavy  in  the  Summer  Land  for  the 
reason  that  a  quest  was  in  his  heart,  but  the  mind  kept  no 
record. 

But  white  deer  came  to  a  lake  in  the  wood  to  drink, 
and  after  them  gay  fays  with  shepherds'  staves  ;  and  they 
danced  and  sang  their  songs  of  the  woodland  things,  and 
that  touched  his  heart  more  than  the  games  of  crowns  and 
castles. 

"  Make  me  a  shepherd,  too,"  he  said,  "for  you  herd  the 
white  things,  and  the  things  of  white  are  dear  to  me." 

"Why  is  that?"  asked  a  maid  of  the  wood. 

But  he  did  not  know,  and  they  laughed  at  him  because 
he  did  not  know,  and  as  they  laughed,  all  suddenly  Una, 
gorgeous  and  jeweled,  flashed  in  their  midst  and  caught  at 
his  hand. 

"  Not  yet  have  you  seen  her  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Then  come 
with  me;  I  weary  for  your  voice." 

"  I  am  a  shepherd  of  the  wood,  and  herd  the  deer." 

"  The  deer  need  no  shepherds ;  it  is  only  a  game  to  play. 
Come!  I  will  sing  my  music  and  dance  you  a  dance  in 
the  woods  alone,  see!  Is  the  dance  not  a  fair  dance?" 

"  Ay,  but  I  would  you  could  give  me  the  word  of  why  I 
wander  here  where  this  lake  wells  with  the  tides  of  the  sea." 

"  Come !  We  will  hunt  in  a  forest  far  away.  This  lake 
in  the  wood  is  a  place  we  never  seek." 

"Yet  the  white  birds  come  — and  the  white  deer." 

"  It  is  a  place  where  earth  life  is  remembered,  and  the 
dread  enchantment  of  night  may  fall." 

[18] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


"And  the  stars?**  He  asked,  for  all  suddenly  he  thought 
of  the  night  as  a  thing  dearly  beloved  and  to  be  desired 
more  than  the  Ever  Day  of  the  changeless  sun.  The  night 
stars  had  been  dear  to  him. 

"  Ay,  and  the  moon  and  their  mistress.  Come  out  of  the 
dusk  of  the  wood ! " 

"  But  I  hear  music  of  sweetness  here ! " 

"Come,  and  I  will  sing  beyond  sweetness  of  woman!" 

"I  listen." 

"  By  this  lake  of  Danaan,  I  may  not  sing." 

"  And  that  is  best,"  said  Phadraig,  for  out  of  the  rock- 
wall  by  the  lake,  or  up  from  the  water,  there  came  the 
music  of  dreams  on  the  hill  of  Cromm  Cru,  and  to  an  altar 
of  stone  by  the  lake-side  came  a  figure  of  a  maid,  and 
before  her  and  after  her  swept  the  white  birds  of  the  sea. 
Her  face  was  veiled  as  by  a  cloud  circling  her  to  her  white 
feet  —  and  it  was  the  white  cloud  maid  he  had  visioned  in 
the  well  where  the  heart  of  the  sea  throbbed  as  it  throbbed 
here  in  the  lake  of  the  wood. 

"Come  with  me  now  for  pleasure,"  said  Una  of  the 
gold  crown  and  jewel  eyes. 

And  he  looked  deep  into  her  wondrous  eyes  and  read 
there  the  shadow  things  of  some  forgotten  past. 

"Somewhere,  in  some  life,  your  music  of  Life  has 
held  me,  and  I  followed  after.  Was  I  lost  in  some 
forest  through  that  following,  O  Woman  of  the  Mem 
ory?  And  do  the  white  birds  of  the  sea  lead  me  at  last 
out  from  the  shadows  of  that?  This  pulse  of  the 
lake  beats  more  close  to  me  than  the  pulse  of  your 
heart,  O  Una,  most  beautiful!  And  —  I  follow  my 
dream!" 

And  at  that  the  white  cloud  fell  away  from  the  maid, 
and  he  saw  the  white  hands  of  her  make  new  fire  in  the 
ancient  way  on  the  stone  of  the  altar  place,  and  maids  and 

[19] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

men  in  green  clasped  hands  and  circled  her,  and  chanted 
a  song  he  had  sometime  known  of. 

Samhain!     Samhain!     Samhain! 
Take  the  new  fire!    Send  the  rain! 
Banish  care  and  banish  pain! 
Speed  the  ghosts  who  ban  the  sheep, 
Light  the  path  to  spirit  sleep! 
This  our  fire  to  light  the  way 
This  eve: 

Samhain! 

And  as  he  heard  them  he  saw  again  the  hill  of  Cromm 
Cru  and  the  circled  bands  there,  but  never  on  Cromm  Cru 
or  in  all  the  world  had  he  seen  such  a  priest  at  an  altar, 
for  she  was  all  of  white  and  silver  and  in  her  hair  of  gold 
was  a  fillet  of  silver  with  a  crescent  moon.  And  he  broke 
through  the  circle  to  kneel  by  her. 

"O  new  moon  of  the  world!*'  said  Phadraig  as  he 
unclasped  the  strong  hand  of  Una. 

"  I  hear  your  voice  but  may  not  look  on  you  until  the 
prayer  is  worked.  The  Lords  of  Flame  send  thus  the 
strength  of  altars  to  the  sun!  'Tis  Summer  Days'  fare- 
well!" 

"The  day  is  endless  here  — and  no  farewell!"  came  the 
whispered  music-sweet  voice  of  Una.  "Tis  witchery  of 
Earth,  her  mother's  earth!  I  beg  you  come  with  me!" 

But  he  made  no  answer,  so  thrilled  was  he  by  the 
enchantment  of  the  music  of  the  white  maid  who  gave  fire 
to  her  men  and  maids,  and  bade  them  to  the  four  ways.  ^ 

Then  she  turned  and  smiled  upon  him,  and  in  her  smile 
was  the  glory  of  dawn. 

"  You  have  followed  the  quest,  O  King  Phadraig,  soul 
of  Nihil?"  she  said. 

" Not  king,  O  Wonder  Maid!  You  have  given  back  the 
name  I  had  lost,  but  no  king  am  I.  I  am  the  son  of  Nihil, 

[20] 


gTHE  DRUID  PATH 


and  am  your  shepherd  of  the  white  deer,  or  knight  of 
yours  if  fighting  men  are  called." 

"Danaan  calls  no  more  battles  these  many  thousand 
days." 

And  with  the  name  came  the  strange  witchery  by  which 
he  had  been  held  in  thrall  since  the  night  of  Beltain  on  the 
heights. 

"  Danaan  —  Danaan ! "  he  whispered.  "  I  have  followed 
the  quest.  Your  white  birds  led  the  way,  O  snowy- 
breasted  maid !  I  am  in  bond  to  you  these  many  days !  " 

"  We  all  are  bound  by  links  forged  by  the  gods.  What 
quest  was  yours?  " 

"  I  never  knew  till  now.  I  thought  it  but  the  music  of 
the  past  —  I  sought  to  find  it  through  your  magic  name  — 
and  now — " 

"  Ay !  Wishful  human  hearts,"  she  said,  and  rested  her 
hand  on  his  hair  where  he  knelt  beside  her.  "  Come  you, 
and  tell  me  of  your  life  on  other  shores." 

"I  have  forgotten  all,"  he  said,  and  in  truth  he  had; 
only  flashes  of  vision  came  to  him  as  she  spoke,  but  they 
went  again. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his.    "  Now  look  again,"  she  said. 

And  he  looked.  And  there  was  the  great  cliff  and  the 
glen  by  the  sea  and  the  sheep  on  the  far  moors.  And  at 
the  door  of  the  cot  sat  Roiseen  spinning  the  flax,  and  the 
white  hound  at  her  feet  looking  out  to  sea.  It  was  as  if 
he  was  looking  into  the  eyes  of  Phadraig,  and  seeing  him, 
yet  taking  no  note,  and  Phadraig  felt  a  longing  for  the 
shore.  He  had  loved  well  Roiseen  and  the  hound.  And 
Danaan  beside  him  laughed,  and  clapped  her  hands  as  a 
child  would  do. 

"  I  saw  it,  too ! "  she  said.  "  And  that  is  the  shore  my 
mother  loved!  Once  she  made  me  to  see  her  honey- 
sweet  hills.  She  died  with  the  sickness  of  longing  for  them, 

[21] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


but  never  could  I  see  it  alone.  Oh,  lend  me  your  eyes, 
and  look  for  the  deep  well  in  the  wood  in  the  valley  below 
the  altar  —  it  was  there  he,  my  father,  found  her,  and  drew 
her  from  her  people.  And  she  trod  with  him  the  Druid 
Path  and  came  from  the  pulsing  well  here  to  the  pulsing 
lake.  Did  you  know  that  each  is  a  mirror  for  all  that 
reflects  in  the  other?  It  is  the  path  of  dreams  —  and  the 
guide  is  the  living  sea.  It  has  led  you  as  it  led  my  mother 
from  the  land  of  Inis  Erinn." 

"And  when  was  this?"  asked  Phadraig,  after  he  had 
looked  with  her  into  the  pulsing  well  and  over  the  cliffs, 
and  in  all  the  places  she  had  been  told  of  and  longed  to  see. 
"  I  only  know  it  is  so  long  ago  that  the  sea  is  changed 
there.  For  the  water  ran  in  where  you  showed  me  the 
sheep  in  the  valley.  Ay,  always  I  wanted  to  see  that 
earth  life  again,  and  I  wished  it  till  you  came  to  me." 

"And  I  wished  for  the  voice  of  Danaan  out  of  all  the 
world  till  my  wish  met  yours  somewhere  between  the 
shores,  and  only  the  sea  birds  knew ! " 
She  looked  at  him  long,  and  sighed. 
"  My  mother  came  for  such  a  wish  —  and  for  love,  but 
she  could  not  stay  alive  with  us,  and  her  spirit  went  out  on 
the  wings  of  the  wind  to  find  her  way  back  to  the  prim 
rose  dawns  and  the  purple  dusks.    How  will  you  go  out, 
O  Phadraig  the  king,  when  the  time  comes?" 

"  Why  am  I  here  but  to  do  your  will?  "  he  asked.  "  And 
since  you  name  me  king,  then  a  king's  way  must  I  go  out 
when  the  time  comes;  but  bear  you  with  me  I  will, 
Danaan,  my  soul." 

"  Ay,  if  that  might  be,"  she  said,  and  played  with  the 
girdle  of  sea  pearls  about  her.  "  My  mother  left  with  me 
the  earth  longings  else  I  never  had  wished  you  here"  — 
and  then  she  put  her  hand  on  his  once  more  and  had  him 
look  back  to  the  land,  and  softly  she  crooned  over  to  her- 

[22] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


self  the  charms  it  held  for  her  through  the  sick  longings 
of  the  mother.  And  when  he  thought  of  the  night  there, 
and  the  stars  circling  above  and  shining  in  the  still  water 
of  the  well,  she  arose  and  paced  the  grove. 

"Look  you,"  she  said,  "the  others  who  abide  with  me 
gave  up  Earth  and  Spirit  in  an  ancient  day  that  they  might 
live  ever  in  the  strong  memory  of  joys  that  were.  My 
heritage  is  different  —  as  my  spirit  is.  They  never  weary 
for  the  dusks  of  the  night ;  I  do,  because  of  the  bond  with 
earth  in  me.  Thus  I  make  my  own  world,  and  do  the 
moon  prayers  my  mother  knew,  and  make  the  Festivals 
of  the  Age  of  Youth,  and  here  for  love  of  it  I  have  my 
night  all  alone  where  it  gives  dread  to  Una  lest  I  plunge 
them  all  in  shadow  —  they  are  in  fear  of  earth  enchant- 
ings.  You  are  stronger  than  I,  O  Phadraig,  for  you  have 
the  soul  of  the  Danaan  and  the  strong  earth  body.  You 
have  fared  forth  on  the  quest  of  Nihil,  though  you  know 
it  not!  But  Nihil  was  not  a  king  and  the  gods  decide, 
Phadraig,  that  you  are  to  be  that.  Wearily  one  more  life 
must  you  serve  ere  you  win  the  right  to  rest." 

"With  you,  O  Danaan?" 

"  If  you  will  it  so,  for  you  are  stronger  than  I,  Phadraig." 

"What  pledge  may  I  keep?" 

She  gave  him  the  sharp  flint  spear  from  the  altar. 

"  Cut  there  in  the  wall  of  the  rock  something  sacred  to 
you  and  to  the  land  of  my  mother." 

He  did  so,  and  cut  the  central  star  of  the  north,  and  the 
wheel  of  the  wings  of  it  at  the  four  seasons. 

"It  is  the  most  steadfast  sign  in  our  skies,"  he  said, 
"and  every  circling  dance  of  prayer  to  the  gods,  old  or 
new,  is  built  on  it." 

Then  Danaan,  holding  his  hand,  stood  beside  him  at  the 
edge  of  the  lake  of  the  tide,  and  with  her  finger  drew  a 
circle  around  the  symbol  there. 

[23] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


"  The  forest  will  wither,  and  the  heart  of  the  lake  will  be 
still,  ere  the  bond  of  that  circle  dies  for  you  and  for  me/' 
she  said.  "  If  ever  you  doubt,  O  Phadraig  the  king,  fare 
you  forth  again  from  your  own  shores  of  Inis  Erinn  and 
look  on  the  wall  and  my  pledge  here.  But  never  look  back 
to  it  but  once  in  your  lifetime,  and  now  —  come  away!" 

He  followed  where  she  led,  and  in  a  grotto  by  the  sea 
they  sat  with  clasped  hands  and  she  told  him  what  she 
might  of  the  People  of  Memory.  Yet  often  she  seemed  to 
tell  him  without  words.  The  music  of  a  wondrous  life 
swept  over  him  in  great  floods  of  light  unspeakable,  and 
again  he  could  hear  an  undercurrent  of  a  lament  ever  dying 
away,  and  coming  again,  and  he  felt  what  that  meant,  too. 

"  We  will  not  be  parting,"  he  said  as  he  held  her.  "I 
say  it!" 

"  That  is  as  may  be,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  free  of  the 
wood  and  rule  there,  yet  I  belong  to  the  Tuathe  de 
Danaan,  and  there  are  bonds  of  this  life." 

"I  broke  them  to  find  you,"  he  said. 

"  So  you  did.  But  you  have  the  wonderful  earth  body, 
and  the  doubled  strength  of  Nihil  and  the  others  who  have 
longed  through  the  ages  to  prove  the  bond  they  felt.  I 
will  be  alone.  There  will  be  no  one  to  help  me." 

"I  will  help,"  he  said. 

"You  have  your  will,  and  you  see  no  content  till  you 
try,"  she  said.  "  But  this  is  the  time  of  trial,  and  I  will 
not  see  you  linger  till  your  soul  goes  out  on  the  restless 
winds  crying  for  the  blue  of  the  heather  on  the  hill  and 
the  primrose  dawns  after  the  sweet  nights !  It  may  be  a 
long  farewell  you  are  to  give  me  here,  Phadraig,  O  King ! " 

But  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms  as  if  she  had  been  but  an 
armful  of  the  fragrant  blossoms  above  them,  and  he  strode 
down  to  the  shore  with  the  white  sea  birds  screaming. 

She  uttered  no  word  as  he  placed  her  in  the  currach  and 

£24] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


set  it  on  the  waves,  and  from  the  castle  walls  no  face 
looked  out.  It  was  as  if  all  the  land  there,  and  her  heart 
as  well,  had  been  made  quiet  by  the  strength  of  his  will  to 
bear  her  away. 

But  only  the  whispered  lament  of  the  music  was  heard, 
and  the  world  was  very  still.  The  birds  had  ceased  whirl 
ing  above  but  swept  steadily  onward  as  if  drifting  on  the 
wind,  and  it  was  a  world  of  green  water  and  green  sky 
they  went  into. 

But  the  cold  came  down,  and  the  birds  flew  low.  He 
touched  the  hand  of  Danaan;  it  was  very  cold,  and  his 
heart  was  sick  with  fear  for  her.  He  lifted  her  to  his 
breast  that  his  body  might  give  her  warmth.  But  it  did 
not,  and  his  very  soul  seemed  frozen  with  unearthly  cold 
as  he  lay  beside  her  and  held  her  close. 

And  then  she  smiled,  the  most  wonderful  smile  in  the 
world,  into  his  eyes,  and  whispered,  "  I  did  not  know  how  it 
would  be  coming,  Phadraig,  O  King.  But  it  is  the  farewell 
— and  it  is  sweet  as  honey  on  the  hills  in  your  land  of  love." 

But  he  could  not  speak ;  he  could  only  look  on  her  face 
until  his  own  eyes  closed,  and  the  currach  went  steadily 
on  through  icy  air.  There  was  no  longer  any  thought  left 
in  him  as  to  where  they  were  borne,  for  he  felt  the  sleep 
of  death  was  over  them  both. 


m 


o 


HND  on  the  day  of  Samhain,  as  the  sun  went  into  the 
western  mists  and  left  a  path  of  glory  behind,  the 
white  hound  at  the  feet  of  old  Roiseen  of  the  Glen 
stood  up  looking  out  to  the  sea,  and  the  whine  of  him  was 
like  a  chained  soul  in  travail.    Roiseen  looked  the  way  he 

[25] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


looked,  and  in  the  path  of  the  sun  on  the  water  a  currach 
came  in  to  the  shore,  and  over  it  a  white  cloud  hovered. 
Yet  when  it  came  nearer,  the  cloud  was  only  white  birds 
flying  low  on  the  sea. 

"The  strength  of  the  saints  to  us  —  and  Saint  Brighde 
to  the  fore ! "  she  prayed,  for  no  mortal  currach  ever  came 
in  like  that  against  the  tide.  And  to  shepherds  bearing 
yew  to  the  mount  of  Cromm  Cru,  she  made  a  call. 

"  Come  you  who  bear  cheer  to  the  ghosts  who  walk  on 
the  night  of  Samhain,"  she  said,  "  come  you  down  to  the 
sea  where  the  ghost  of  Phadraig,  son  of  Nihil,  is  waiting 
on  the  waves!" 

In  fear  they  came,  and,  led  by  the  white  hound,  they 
went  down  to  the  sea,  and  there  was  Phadraig  in  the 
white  sleep.  But  the  hound  crept  near  to  him  and  gave 
tongue  in  joy,  and  Roiseen  of  the  Glen  lifted  his  head 
to  her. 

"  The  luck  is  on  him  that  he  yet  holds  breath,"  she  said. 
"  Men,  take  him  up.  Fiann,  make  you  the  fire.  Erard,  go 
you  for  the  priest  in  the  cave  of  the  hills,  for  he  is  a  holy 
man.  Ay!  Achone!  Phadraig,  that  you  should  come 
back  to  us  with  the  ice  in  your  blood  like  this ! " 

And  only  the  bravest  of  the  men  would  bear  Phadraig, 
for  the  others  stayed  on  their  knees  in  fear  of  the  white 
birds  whirling  wearily  over. 

And  the  night  fires  of  Samhain  were  sending  their 
flames  to  the  sky  when  he  spoke. 

"Danaan,  Danaan,  it  is  again  I  have  lost  you?" 

"He  dreams,"  said  the  holy  man  of  the  cave  where 
Saint  Colman  had  lived  his  seven  blessed  years,  and  ever 
after  that  time  the  monks  lived  there  in  retreat. 

"  Nay,  father,  call  it  not  a  dream,  for  it  is  a  part  of  the 
life  of  his  people  — and  he  has  been  bold  to  go  forth  to 
find." 

[26] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


And  that  was  the  time  she  told,  under  confession,  the 
legend  of  the  race  of  Ua  Dinan. 

He  was  very  aged,  and  had  seen  many  things  on  earth, 
and  in  hearts,  and  he  did  not  chide. 

"What  is  the  blaze  on  the  night  sky?"  asked  Phadraig. 
"  Do  they  burn  today  the  yew  wet  by  the  rain  last  night  of 
Samhain?" 

The  monk  looked  at  the  woman. 

"Ay,  Phadraig,  my  heart,"  she  said.  "It  is  the  feast 
fire  of  Samhain."  But  she  did  not  tell  him  he  had  gone 
out  with  the  ghosts  of  Samhain  a  year  agone,  and  came 
back  with  them! 

Then  there  was  sound  of  horses'  feet,  and  voices  of 
men  of  degree,  and  a  chief  of  Tormond  entered  the  cot 
and  bent  the  knee  to  Phadraig,  and  beyond  the  door  stood 
many  chiefs. 

"  We  have  guarded  your  claim  till  you  came,  Phadraig, 
son  of  Nihil,  son  of  Ua  Dinan,"  he  said,  and  the  chiefs 
lifted  their  lances,  and  one  by  one  entered  the  cot  and 
spoke  fealty  and  passed  out. 

And  thus  he  learned  that  Danaan  spoke  true  in  Tir- 
nan-Ogue  of  the  Long  Day,  for  Kieran  the  king  had  fallen 
in  a  raid  of  the  south,  and  his  frail  cousin  had  gone  out 
like  a  rushlight  in  the  wind. 

"  Come  another  day,  and  I  will  hearken  to  you,"  he  said, 
"  other  cares  await  me  this  night." 

They  went  away  at  that,  and  Phadraig  asked  again  for 
Danaan,  and  was  told  that  the  currach  was  empty  but  for 
himself,  and  was  so  old  that  it  fell  to  pieces  as  the  men 
drew  it  ashore,  and  that  not  lately  could  it  have  ever  borne 
the  burden  of  two  bodies. 

This  he  knew  was  not  true,  and  he  said  it,  and  the  fever 
of  him  ran  hot,  and  he  talked  of  the  trees  of  magic  where 
white  flower  and  fruit  of  gold  grew  on  the  same  branch, 

[27] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

and  where  music  was  achingly  sweet,  and  spoke  without 
words!  Back  there  to  Tir-nan-Ogue  would  he  go  for 
Danaan,  despite  all,  and  he  bade  them  as  their  king  that 
they  bring  him  a  boat  for  the  journey! 

And  so  prayerful  were  the  eyes  of  Roiseen  that  the  holy 
man  of  the  cave  bade  him  sleep  in  peace,  for  with  the 
rising  of  the  sun  the  boat  would  be  ready. 

"Achone!  Ay,  father!  But  what  shall  we  do  if  he 
wakens  alive  and  holds  you  to  that?"  asked  Roiseen, 
making  the  sign. 

"  What  is  there  to  do  with  god  or  man  but  to  keep  the 
faith?  "  said  the  priest.  "  He  is  not  to  be  bound  or  held  to 
life  for  the  cares  of  this  land  except  he  be  rowed  to  some 
island  in  the  sea,  and  have  the  dream  blown  away  on  the 
wind." 

And  it  was  so. 

The  chiefs  waited  on  his  word  while  he  walked 
hills  with  the  priest  and  listened  to  the  music  unheard 
by  all  but  him,  and  called  on  Danaan  to  come  alive  to 

Strange  tales  went  abroad  that  the  king  walked  with 
angels,  and  the  chiefs  were  patient,  but  to  the  holy  man 
they  said  he  must  wear  the  crown  or  forfeit  it,  also  that 
he  must  wed  with  a  maid  of  degree,  else  no  chief  could 
bring  wife  or  daughter  to  the  halls  of  Ua  Dinan,  as  was 
the  custom  in  Tormond. 

Phadraig,  the  king,  listened  and  laughed  with  1 

thoughts. 

"How  may  I  wed  a  warm  maid  of  the  clans  when^my 
arms  are  yet  chilled  with  the  icy  bosom  of  Danaan?"  he 
asked.  "  The  heart  of  me  craves  only  a  boat  and  strength 
to  fare  forth  to  the  shores  where  I  held  her." 

"And  if  we  find  a  shore  and  no  waiting  maids,  will  yoi 
then  take  up  the  work  waiting  here  to  your  hand? 

[28] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


"  That,  if  I  cannot  find  her,"  said  Phadraig. 

"  And  will  you  wed  the  lady  who  waits  in  the  south,  and 
hold  court  as  of  old  for  the  good  of  your  race?" 

"  Rather  with  her  than  another,"  said  Phadraig.  "  She 
is  a  fair  and  honest  lady,  and  sweetly  kind." 

And  the  holy  man  kept  his  word.  He  bore  sacred  sym 
bols  and  a  church  bell,  and  sailed  away  with  Phadraig  to 
the  west,  and  the  chiefs  on  the  shore  were  told  it  was  a 
vow,  and  waited  as  they  might  and  made  prayers.  The 
bells  were  rung  from  every  tower  that  day  to  pray  that 
Phadraig,  the  king,  come  again  in  health  and  safety. 


DO  one  ever  knew  what  island  in  the  sea  they  came  to, 
but  come  to  an  island  they  did,  and  it  was  far  away. 
The  wood  grew  down  to  the  shore,  and  there  were 
mighty  trees  cast  down  as  by  a  great  wind,  and  the  deso 
lation  of  it  was  so  great  that  no  living  thing  moved  or 
fluttered  a  wing,  and  out  beyond  the  shore  rested  the  white 
birds  of  Phadraig,  the  king,  and  they  rocked  on  the  waves 
there,  and  by  no  effort  could  be  made  follow. 

"  This  is  the  farthest  unknown  land,"  said  the  holy  man. 
"  By  faith  and  prayer  have  we  found  it,  and  by  the  grace 
of  God  only  shall  we  ever  fare  safely  home  or  see  again  the 
faces  of  your  clans.  Look  about  you,  Phadraig  of  the 
Dream,  where  are  the  ever-blossoming  boughs  and  the 
castle  of  stone  with  the  many  towers?" 

"Hear  you  not  the  music?" 

"I  hear  only  the  sea  wind  moaning  through  the 
branches  of  dead  trees." 

" Smell  you  not  the  fragrance  of  orchards?" 

[29] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

= 

"I  smell  only  the  twists  of  seaweed  cast  up  on  the 
shore,"  and  the  priest  pushed  aside  a  branch  of  wild  thorns 
with  green  leaves  reaching  out  from  a  gnarled  and  ancient 
bole. 

But  Phadraig  caught  the  thorn  branch,  and  under  the 
scant  green  leaves  was  one  tiny  blossom,  white  and  thick- 
petaled  and  with  the  fragrance  of  all  sweetness  of  all  the 
orchards  in  the  world. 

"See!    Of  this  I  told  you,  and  it  is  alive  here!" 

"  Then  it  is  the  sole  live  thing  on  the  shore,  for  there  is 
not  even  fish  in  this  sea." 

But  Phadraig  led  him  over  stones  of  great  size  piled 
high.  Broken  stone  was  there  covered  by  sands  —  and 
other  stone  not  broken,  but  squared  on  the  four  sides  and 
grown  over  with  lichens  and  wild  vines. 

"  This  is  like  the  place  of  the  tower  where  the  sea  tide 
swept  into  the  moat,"  he  said. 

And  the  holy  man  went  over  the  stone,  and  stood  on  a 
broken  wall.  And  beyond  was  a  great  place  of  sand  piled 
high  where  the  walls  of  a  moat  once  stood. 

"Come  away/'  he  said,  and  crossed  himself  in  fear. 
"  This  is  no  place  of  living  things.  No  life  has  been  here 
for  a  thousand  years." 

But  Phadraig  held  the  blossom  and  heard  the  music  of 
Danaan  and  would  not. 

"Come  out  first,  as  by  your  vow,  to  the  forest."  he  said, 
•'  for  it  was  there  I  found  her.  Once  only  in  my  lifetime 
I  was  to  come  back  if  I  had  doubt.  I  have  no  doubt,  yet  I 
am  here  with  you.  Come  you  in." 

It  was  a  wilderness  beyond  words,  and  the  twisted 
thorn  trees  were  gray  and  dead  there,  with  neither  green 
leaf  nor  white  bloom. 

"I  am  sorrowful  to  bring  you  through  them,"  said 
Phadraig,  the  king,  for  the  priest  was  old  and  the  way 

[30] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 


hard.  "  But  over  beyond  the  hill  is  the  great  forest  —  and 
there  by  the  blue  lake  the  pulse  of  the  sea  is  —  " 

But  the  forest  was  a  jungle  with  no  path,  and  the  lake 
was  not  there ;  only  a  bog  stretched  from  the  gray  wood  to 
a  cliff  of  gray  rock,  and  Phadraig  could  say  no  word  but 
sat  there  on  a  crumbling  stone  and  covered  his  eyes  with 
his  hands. 

"Now,  O  Phadraig,  will  you  come  back  to  the  warm 
blood  of  your  own  clans?  "  asked  the  priest.  "  For  here  is 
the  end  of  the  dream." 

But  Phadraig,  the  lover,  stood  up  and  walked  to  the 
wall  of  gray  rock  at  the  edge  of  the  bog. 

"Not  yet  —  O  holy  father,"  he  said.  "  Once  only  I  was 
to  come  for  proof  in  one  lifetime,  and  here  am  I!  Come 
you  and  look." 

He  tore  away  from  the  rock  wall  the  gray  and  green 
lichen  and  placed  his  fingers  into  the  carving  made  there 
for  the  star  of  the  north,  and  its  circling  seven,  which 
makes  both  cross  and  wheel  in  the  night  sky. 

"  See !  I  drilled  them  deep  as  the  flint  knife  would  bur 
row  the  stone,"  he  said,  "  and  the  storm  has  beaten  away 
the  face  of  the  rock  until  only  the  traces  are  here.  But 
Danaan  took  one  finger  of  her  white  hand  and  drew  a 
circle  as  her  bond,  and  it  has  eaten  deep  into  the  rock  as 
if  carved  with  tools  of  iron  this  day.  Father,  what  should 
that  tell  tome?" 

And  the  holy  man  looked  in  the  face  of  Phadraig,  the 
king,  and  made  a  prayer  against  enchantments,  and  rang 
the  sacred  bell  of  church  there  in  the  gray  wood  before 
he  would  speak. 

"  Since  written  bond  it  is,  O  Phadraig,  rest  your  soul 
with  the  thought  that  it  was  a  bond  with  a  forbear  of 
yours  a  thousand  summers  agone !  You  have  only  dreamed 
the  dream  that  was  born  in  your  blood  of  that  bond. 

[311 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

You  have  kept  the  tryst  for  your  ancestors,  and  risked 
your  life  and  soul  in  the  keeping.  No  more  of  duty  for 
your  race  will  be  required  of  you  in  this  life  — naught 
but  to  wear  the  crown  and  rule  in  the  ways  of  the 
clans." 

So  Phadraig  knelt  there  by  the  written  bond  of  union, 
to  the  harmony  of  the  circling  stars,  and  he  touched  the 
circle  of  Danaan  while  he  made  his  prayer,  and  then  they 
went  out  again  from  the  wilderness  to  the  sea,  and  the 
white  birds  flew  silently  ahead  of  them  on  the  sun-path  to 
the  home  land  of  Erinn. 

"  Look  not  behind  you,"  said  the  priest,  "but  follow  the 
birds  and  pray  for  all  lost  souls." 

For  well  he  knew  what  would  come  of  the  church  bell, 
and  the  Christian  prayer  in  the  gray  wood.  And  come  it 
did,  for  when  he  looked  back  the  ancient  island  of  enchant 
ment  was  no  more  to  be  seen.  And  no  living  man  has  seen 
it  to  this  day  except  its  shadow  every  seven  years  far 
across  the  gold  haze  of  the  sunset  path,  and  then  the  gray 
wood  is  glorified  and  young  again  — but  there  are  those 
who  can  still  hear  the  music  of  Danaan  across  the  water 
in  dusks  and  dawns. 


HND  Roiseen  of  the  Glen  went  to  the  great  hall  of 
Phadraig,  the  Ua  Dinan,  and  nursed  his  children 
there,  and  gave  comfort  to  Yva  of  Kilfernora,  who 
was  wife  to  him,  and  counseled  her  never  to  hedge  in  a 
child  of  the  Ua  Dinan  from  the  open  life  and  the  old 
faiths;  for  in  strange  and  dangerous  ways  they  would 
cross  the  barriers,  and  it  was  safest  to  let  them  range  free 

[32] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

till  they  made  the  circle  and  came  back  to  bide  at  the 
hearthstone  and  under  the  bell  of  the  church. 

The  holy  man  of  the  cave  of  Saint  Colman  was  given 
merit  by  the  bishop  for  saving  the  soul  of  Phadraig,  the 
king,  who  was  known  to  have  won  a  strange  power 
through  some  holy  source. 

His  hair  whitened  but  his  eyes  were  ever  young,  and  his 
strength  and  wisdom  grew,  and  his  children's  children 
could  not  keep  pace  with  him  on  the  moors.  He  trained 
his  eldest  son  to  rule,  and  when  the  times  were  safe,  he 
gave  up  the  crown  and  wore  the  monk's  robe  of  white, 
and  crossed  over  to  Dun  Aengus  of  the  Isles  of  Arran. 
The  singers  of  three  centuries  sang  the  songs  of  Nihil,  his 
father,  and  the  poets  wrote  of  Phadraig,  the  king,  as  of  a 
holy  man  by  whom  the  white  birds  were  tamed.  Also  he 
loved  the  stars  and  learned  wisdom  of  them  in  the  night, 
and  in  the  blessed  Isle  of  Arran  he  was  always  out  under 
the  sky  when  the  wind  blew  from  the  west  —  and  the 
music  he  heard  then  made  him  walk  in  beauty  with  the 
glad  eyes  of  a  lover  who  is  beloved. 

And  when  the  Time  came,  he  laid  him  down  in  the 
white  robe  and  bade  all  doors  be  open,  and  all  windows, 
that  the  west  wind  come  over  him !  And  the  white  birds 
came  on  the  wind  and  circled  the  room  and  hovered  there. 
While  the  brother  monks  lit  candles  and  chanted  the  words 
for  the  dying,  he  smiled  in  content  and  whispered  the 
music  of  the  song  of  Nihil  — 

She  takes  my  hand  at  the  sea  marge, 

She  whispers  low  on  the  wind, 
She  sets  her  sail  for  Tir-nan-Ogue 

And  leaves  worn  Life  behind! 

No  pain  was  with  him,  and  no  sickness,  but  he  went  out 
on  the  wind  as  the  birds  went,  and  the  monks  who  knelt 

[33] 


THE  DRUID  PATH 

by  him,  waiting  some  vision  of  his  patron  saint,  heard  him 
say  at  the  last: 

"Danaan,  the  star  stands  steady  these  thousand  years 
and  the  circle  closes.  I  come  back  on  the  breath  of  the 
gods!" 

There  was  much  learned  discussion  over  this  saying  of 
his.  Some  thought  he  spoke  of  Daniel  of  the  Hebrews, 
who  was  never  a  saint  but  was  once  a  strong  prophet. 
Others  thought  it  was  David,  the  king,  of  whom  he  spoke, 
for  David  was  once  a  shepherd  —  and  such  were  ever  wise 
in  the  ways  of  the  stars  of  night. 

As  to  the  "breath  of  the  gods"  — they  could  by  no 
means  make  out  the  meaning  of  that,  which  would  have 
been  blasphemy  had  it  been  said  by  anyone,  high  or  low, 
and  in  their  charity  the  monks  united  to  disbelieve  their 
own  ears  and  content  their  souls  with  the  miracle  of  the 
white  birds  —  which  was  a  beautiful  miracle  indeed  —  and, 
of  course,  a  holy  one. 

So  Phadraig,  the  king,  was  buried  in  consecrated 
ground,  and  only  two  souls  had  lived  in  his  day  to  read 
the  riddle  of  his  life.  One  was  the  Wise  Woman  of  the 
Glen  and  the  other  a  holy  man  of  the  cave  of  Saint  Colman 
in  the  hills. 

But  each  had  passed  on,  long  years  before,  and  made 
their  choice  between  heaven  and  Tir-nan-Ogue. 


[34] 


THC  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


r  f 


^ 

c3 

mm 

r  Tpr 

?^HN 

jjj  jj 

i 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOMN 

OT  lucky  is  it  for  a  man  when  his  own 
clan  gives  him  low  looks,  and  Ruadan  of 
Ardsolais  saw  how  the  wind  blew  in  the 
rath  of  Fethna  in  Meath  when  his  kins 
men  brought  there  a  counting  of  cattle, 
and  they  grudged  that  payment  of  cattle 
and  grudged  twice  over  the  twelve  white 
cows,  for  the  white  cows  were  the  darlings  of  the  herd, 
and  his  kinsmen  were  coveting  them  for  their  own  fields. 
And  to  Fethna,  who  was  lord  of  the  judgments  in  that 
place,  they  spoke. 

"  What  is  this  debt  to  Cairell?  "  asked  Donn,  of  his  clan. 
"Far  from  Deasmond  is  the  dun  of  Cairell;  far  to  drive 
cattle,  and  waste  of  time  coming." 

Fethna  would  have  been  a  cloak  for  Ruadan  had  he 
dared,  but  justice  must  have  light  of  the  sun. 

"  It  is  no  debt,  and  I  could  wish  you  made  me  no  ask 
ing,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  fine,  and  it  had  to  be  paid  when 
Cairell  brought  witness  and  made  oath." 

"Why  not  give  to  them  the  tale?"  asked  Ruadan,  and 
laughed.  "  If  Cairell  and  his  wife  Luaine  care  so  little  to 
have  songs  of  us  going  round  the  fire,  what  is  it  to  me? 
Luaine  of  the  white  hands  can  be  queen  of  cattle  for  all  I 
am  caring.  That  is  the  comfortable  kind  of  wife  to  have 
for  old  age,  and  she  is  a  fair,  sweet  body." 

"  It  would  serve  you  better,"  said  Donn,  of  his  clan, 

[37] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN! 


"to  take  a  wife  of  your  own,  that  your  kinsmen  could 
bring  their  women  folk  to  your  dun,  as  is  fitting.  Neither 
monk's  robe  nor  wife  will  you  take  or  will  you 
keep." 

"I  am  not  yet  brave  enough  in  spirit  to  pledge  my 
name  for  every  man's  child  a  woman  may  take  fancy  to 
bring;  it  takes  a  brave  man  for  that.  Until  I  find 
the  right  woman  it  is  cheaper  to  pay  trespass  in 
cattle." 

"  You  talk  heresy  ;  for  marriage  is  called  sanctified." 

"  So  the  priests  are  telling,  but  it  takes  more  than  their 
words  to  prove  it  so.  Make  not  your  quarrel  here,  because 
there  is  no  wife  in  my  dun,  when  all  these  coveted  cattle 
are  paid  by  me  because  there  was  a  wife  in  my  camp  in  the 
forest  —  ill-luck  on  that  night ! " 

His  kinsmen  stared  darkly,  feeling  they  were  laughed 
at,  but  Fethna  spoke. 

"  It  is  the  truth :  the  woman  followed  him,  he  makes  no 
denial." 

"What  good  of  it?"  laughed  Ruadan.  "I  left  his  dun 
and  asked  no  company.  Every  jester  in  Erinn  would 
have  a  song  of  me  if  I  took  flight  from  the  same  woman 
twice.  And  where  would  there  be  profit  in  it  to  any 
one?" 

"  There  would  be  profit  in  that  you  would  not  lose  the 
love  of  Niall,  the  king,"  said  Fethna  sorrowful,  and  Donn 
changed  looks  with  the  others. 

"True  enough,"  agreed  Ruadan,  "but  if  Niall  was 
pleased  to  give  me  love  himself,  why  should  he  be  in  anger 
for  the  reason  that  his  uncle's  cousin's  daughter  should 
have  followed  after  to  do  the  same?  How  was  I  to  know? 
Does  a  man  waste  time  to  ask  about  grandsires  when  a 
lovely  woman  would  creep  under  his  cloak?  Out  on  you 
for  a  lot  of  cold-blooded  fish!  Niall  Caille  will  show  tem- 

[38] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


per  for  a  year  perhaps,  and  I'll  be  keeping  my  distance 
till  he  has  need  of  a  spear." 

"  Is  the  favor  of  a  king  so  small  a  matter  that  you  pick 
it  up  and  put  it  aside  as  you  will?  "  asked  Bonn  jealously. 
"  Strange  tales  have  come  to  us  of  other  heads  with  crowns 
and  other  friendships  of  yours." 

Ruadan  looked  at  his  hand  on  which  a  foreign  ring 
shone  —  a  ring  of  deep  gold  and  a  red  jewel  in  it. 

"  Rest  you  easy  on  that.  There  will  be  no  cattle  to  pay 
there!  I  was  on  the  business  of  the  king;  and  the  jewel 
was  given  only  to  the  king's  messenger." 

"Ask  of  Niall  another  gille  next  time,"  said  Fethna, 
"  for  the  last  one  had  tales  to  tell  of  Queen  Ota  and  that 
ring  of  yours !  Turgesius  of  the  Danes  needs  two  eyes  for 
her  alone.  Since  kings  and  queens  do  not  come  to  me  to 
set  fines  for  loves,  I  can  laugh  at  that,  and  leave  it  to 
Niall.  But  the  bards  do  be  making  songs  of  that  and  even 
the  maids  are  singing  them  in  their  chamber." 

Back  of  the  arras  there  was  a  movement  and  a  scuttling 
of  feet ;  maids  were  there  listening  because  the  drive  of  cat 
tle  had  made  talk. 

Bevind,  daughter  of  Fethna,  was  there,  and  held  by  the 
hand  Doirenn,  of  the  deep  voice,  to  listen. 

"  Do  you  have  wonder  that  I  give  him  my  looks  when 
queens  have  given  him  love?"  she  asked,  but  the  girl 
Doirenn  looked  her  gloom  and  her  scorn. 

"  How  is  it  that  you  give  looks  to  him  whom  they  call 
'  God's  Dastard '  when  your  eyes  have  looked  on  goodness 
in  Geroid  who  has  no  blemish?"  she  asked.  "This  man 
has  much  blemish,  and  is  not  in  shame  because  of  it." 

"You  are  as  hard  on  him  as  the  monks,  for  it  was  the 
monks  that  put  that  name  on  him.  It  is  heavy  to  carry, 
Doirenn.  To  put  an  ill  name  to  a  boy  and  hope  he  walks 
the  white  path  is  much  to  hope  for,  Doirenn." 

[39] 


Vi/u/vi' 

THE  ENCHANTING  Of  DOIRENN 


Doirenn  looked  at  her,  frowning. 

"I  have  not  seen  his  face,  yet  I  am  thinking  ill  of 
him,"  she  said.  "  Geroid  would  have  no  light  word  of 
women  and  cattle  such  as  this  man  speaks.  Give  him 
no  looks,  Bevind,  and  no  words.  It  is  said  that  monks 
learn  holy  ghostly  things,  and,  if  turned  dastard  to 
God,  they  can  use  power  for  enchantments.  If  a  queen, 
even  a  pagan  queen,  looked  love  on  him,  and  a  king's 
cousin  followed  him,  what  can  it  mean  but  enchant- 
ings? " 

Bevind  gasped  and  rolled  her  eyes. 

"I  did  hear  old  Aillve  tell  a  tale  or  enchantment  by 
love,  and  the  man  was  old  as  the  world,  yet  looked 
young,  and  he  snared  maids  and  took  them  to  his  rath 
where  they  were  changed  to  white  cats.  His  forest  was 
ful  of  beautiful  white  cats,  waiting  for  a  brave  and 
pure  youth  to  ride  their  way  and  make  prayers  there; 
and  that  would  free  them,  and  nothing  else  would  free 
them." 

"Geroid  could  be  that  one,"  said  Doirenn.  "All  his 
verses  on  the  tablets  are  against  enchantments  in  these 
days.  Here  is  one — 

Against  incantations  of  false  prophets. 
Against  craft  of  idolatry,  against  spells 
Of  women,  and  smiths,  and  druids,  /  bind 
Myself  to  the  strong  strength. 

The  prayer  of  a  saint  is  that  prayer,  Bevind,  and  with  it 
he  could  ride  safe  to  free  all  enchanted  souls." 

"But  would  he?"  asked  Bevind.  "He  is  my  kinsman 
more  than  yours,  and  the  safe  side  of  a  good  wall  was 
ever  the  choice  of  Geroid  when  the  play  was  getting  rough. 
My  brothers  are  wild  to  fight  out  the  Danes  when  the 
time  comes,  but  Geroid  casts  no  spear  for  that  practice." 

[40] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


Doirenn  sulked  and  frowned. 

"Your  brothers  have  not  souls  of  religion,"  she  said, 
"they  have  jealous  hearts  because  of  the  high  words  of 
Geroid." 

"  They  have  jealous  hearts  because  of  your  own  beau 
teous  eyes,  and  because  not  one  of  them  would  shut  him 
self  away  with  the  monks,  and  feed  a  maid  like  yourself 
on  letters  and  on  the  prayers  of  the  old-time  saints,  and 
that  is  what  Geroid  is  doing  to  you." 

"The  tongue  of  you  is  bitter  from  some  poison  herb 
you  have  chewed  on,"  declared  Doirenn,  "you  have  no 
good  word  for  the  godly,  but  many  good  words  for  that 
swaggering  lover  of  queens  and  other  men's  wives.  The 
more  shame  to  you!" 

Bevind  laughed  again.  "  Alanna,"  she  said,  "  he  has  no 
love,  else  he  would  have  kept  Luaine  who  followed  his 
road.  He  would  be  fighting  for  her  and  not  paying  cattle 
for  her  —  no  —  Ruadan  of  Ardsolais  has  not  yet  found 
Love,  he  has  only  found  many  fond  women.  Achone  ! 
That  I  was  promised  in  troth  before  I  was  seeing  him, 
for  his  kinsmen  are  saying  it  is  a  wife  he  should  have,  far 
away  there,  back  of  beyond  where  his  dun  is  in  the 


o       .;;;;<       o 


UT  Doirenn  cared  not  where  he  lived,  nor  when  he 
wived.     She  carried  the  last  tablet  of  Geroid  out 
through  the  arbor  where  she  could  read  over  again 
and  again  the  written  words  of  the  lad  who  was  dear  and 
was  far.    She  unbraided  the  red  gold  of  her  hair,  and  let  it  fall 
about  her  as  a  shimmering  curtain.    She  had  days  in  that  six- 

[41] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


teenth  year  of  hers  when  the  veil  of  a  nun  would 
have  seemed  to  her  a  sweet  thing  to  wear  in  sanctuary, 
but  the  cutting  of  that  golden  shower  was  a  thing  to 
shrink  from;  and  the  thought  of  Geroid  was  another 
reason! 


XT  was  there  in  the  arbor  Ruadan  saw  her,  while  his 
kinsmen  fed  and  Fethna  did  a  host's  duty. 

At  first  he  could  see  little  but  the  glory  of  her  hair 
and  the  bare  feet  under  the  striped  skirt  of  white  and 
brown.  He  was  above  her  on  the  wall,  and  stood  waiting 
some  movement  that  her  face  might  be  uncovered. 

Fethna  found  him  thus,  for  she  had  not  moved  and  he 
had  watched  her  long. 

"Who  is  that?"  he  asked,  "or  do  I  dream  of  magical 
gold  in  the  shape  of  a  maid?" 

"It  is  Doirenn,  daughter  of  no  man  now,  for  Marvan 
that  was  her  father,  and  all  his  household,  were  swept 
into  death  by  the  men  of  Lochlann,  and  the  gold  of  her 
hair  is  all  the  dower  the  child  brings." 

"What  does  she  there?" 

"She  is  devoted  these  days  because  a  queer  t^yist  of  a 
lad  is  devoted,  and  hours  she  reads  the  prayers  he  is  send 
ing  on  tablets.  It  is  a  game  of  young  years  and  is  on  the 
love  path.  She  grows  tall  and  nearing  time  to  wed." 

"And  she  reads  the  writings?" 

"  She  does,  and  who  wants  a  cleric  in  a  wife  ?  Marvan 
taught  her  as  a  scribe  ere  he  went  the  way  —  cows  and 
slaves  would  be  a  better  portion." 

"  I  do  not  say  that,"  said  Ruadan.    "  Ten  years  I  worked 

[42] 


THE:  ENCHANTING  or  DOJRENN 


on  letters  alone  in  Cluain-mac-noise  and  books  I  made 
were  gifts  to  kings.  There  is  a  joy  in  that.  If  in  this 
life  I  found  no  house,  I  may  go  back  to  the  pen  and  color 
pot  after  I  have  covered  my  circle." 

Then  the  voice  of  Bevind  called  from  somewhere,  and 
Doirenn  stood  up  and  shook  back  her  golden  mane. 

"  She  has  dower  in  plenty,"  said  Ruadan. 

He  listened  to  her  voice  and  remembered  its  deep  music, 
and  he  rode  west  with  his  kinsmen,  who  planted  his  fields 
and  counted  his  herds. 


a  MONTH  went  by,  and  again  he  stood  at  the  gate 
of  Fethna. 

"Does  that  maid  know  me,  Ruadan,  from  Donn 
or  the  others  of  my  clan?"  he  asked,  and  Fethna  looked 
at  him  and  laughed  loud. 

"  The  last  time  it  was  a  cattle-fine  for  a  wife  you  paid, 
and  now  you  are  coming  to  ask  of  a  maid  and  no  name  to 
her!" 

"  There  is  only  one  in  the  world,"  said  Ruadan.  "  She 
is  Doirenn  na  Marvan,  and  I  would  have  speech  with 
her." 

"  Sorrow  the  day,"  lamented  Fethna,  "  it  is  not  now  you 
would  be  seeing  that  one ;  grief  of  the  world  is  on  her,  for 
Geroid  who  was  her  lover  has  gone  into  the  '  Solitary ' — 
far  west  has  he  gone  down  the  Sionan  to  the  ancient  cell 
of  Saint  Senan  on  the  shores  of  Lough  Dearg.  She  thinks 
the  sorrow  of  the  world  is  hers." 

"  I  would  lift  that  load  and  carry  it,"  said  Ruadan. 

"  You  mean  to  take  her  to  wed? "  and  Fethna's  face  had 

[43] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


a  frown  on  it  It  was  not  easy  to  shift  the  sails  for  every 
wind  with  Ruadan. 

"It  would  mean  war  with  me,  or  a  race  beyond  me  to 
the  man  who  would  offer  her  less,"  he  said. 

But  for  all  the  urging  of  Bevind,  Doirenn  would  not 
come  where  he  was.  She  said  he  was  the  contrary  in  all 
ways  to  the  pious  youth  who  had  her  heart.  If  she  loved 
Geroid,  there  could  be  only  hate  in  her  thoughts  for  one 
so  near  to  the  evil  one  as  "  God's  Dastard  "  was  said  and 
was  sung. 

"  She  has  not  seen  me,"  said  Ruadan  when  her  refusal 
came.  "Let  her  see  me  and  hear  me,  and  let  my  own 
ears  hear  her  words." 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  day  of  joy  for  Fethna  and  the 
family  of  Fethna.  His  own  sons  were  asking  the  same 
thing,  and  the  girl  had  only  one  thought,  and  that  was 
not  of  marriage. 

But  after  much  argument  Doirenn  put  aside  Bevind  and 
walked  alone  into  the  great  hall  where  Ruadan  —  God's 
Dastard  and  the  darling  of  fond  women  —  waited. 

White  she  was,  and  afraid,  but  the  fear  only  made  darker 
the  blue  eyes  of  her.  Her  hair  was  braided  in  long  strands 
over  each  shoulder.  Bevind  had  dressed  her  in  white  and 
the  broidered  shoes  of  skin  were  white.  She  was  more 
lovely  than  a  queen  of  the  Danaan  in  the  ancient 
legends. 

But  she  stood,  a  pale,  proud,  frightened  child  in  her 
loveliness,  and  she  looked  past  Ruadan  and  not  at  him. 

"I  came  by  the  courtesy  of  Fethna,"  she  said.  "I  do 
not  come  by  my  wish." 

Ruadan  looked  at  her  and  saw  the  fluttering  of  the 
white  throat  and  the  tight  clenching  of  her  hand.  She 
looked  like  a  bird  trapped. 

"And  I  come  despite  my  wish  to  go  elsewhere,"  he 

[44] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


said  grimly.  "Child,  I  saw  you  once  in  the  arbor  and  I 
shall  not  be  forgetting  the  seeing  of  you.  I  meant  not  to 
see  you  again,  but  a  dream  came  to  me  in  the  forest  and  it 
brought  me  to  you,  for  you  were  in  it." 

She  looked  at  him  then  and  looked  away  proudly. 

"  Your  dream  was  false,"  she  said.  "  It  should  have 
been  of  Luaine  who  claimed  your  cattle,  or  Ota  the  queen, 
whose  love  gift  you  wear." 

"By  the  Elements,"  he  began  darkly,  but  she  put  out 
her  hand. 

"I  have  no  desire  for  speech  with  unholy  men,"  she 
said.  "  Priest  and  monk  say  you  are  that,  and  they  have 
a  name  for  it !  They  tell  me  you  speak  marriage  for  me,  but 
I  have  a  choice :  If  Geroid  goes  into  sanctuary  I  also  will 
go;  I  am  going.  The  veiled  women  of  Cluain-mac-noise 
will  take  me  without  dower.  Your  dream  in  the  forest  has 
no  meaning  to  a  veiled  maid." 

"It  will  have  in  another  time,"  he  said  in  patience,  for 
her  voice  had  the  sound  of  tears,  and  it  made  a  strange 
ache  in  his  heart.  "I  dreamed  that  you  were  in  sorrow 
and  that  I  was  to  offer  you  shelter.  I  did  not  know  your 
sorrow  but  I  turned  and  rode  back  to  learn.  From  Fethna 
I  learned." 

"  It  is  not  your  sorrow,"  said  Doirenn. 

"  It  may  be,  and  we  may  live  to  know  it,"  Ruadan  made 
answer,  and  strove  to  gentle  his  voice  to  her  sadness,  "  for 
I  dreamed  I  saw  you  in  a  very  different  place  —  away  to 
the  west  and  in  hills  I  know  and  by  a  shore  you  never  have 
seen." 

"  The  west ! "  she  whispered.  "  Geroid  is  there  now,  a 
stone  cell  in  the  mountains  of  the  west ! " 

"  I  did  not  see  the  cell.  I  saw  you  there  at  a  shore  I 
know,  and  Bronach  the  Lamentable  was  there  —  the  wraith 
washing  the  shrouds  of  mortals.  I  woke  in  the  night  with 

[45] 


Vi/WV!/ 

THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


that  dream,  and  turned  in  the  night  to  take  the  road  here. 
To  the  people  of  my  house  Bronach  does  not  come  for 
naught.  You  were  in  that  dream,  it  means  a  bond  with 
our  house,  and  I  am  here  to  keep  that  bond,  and  offer  what 
I  may." 

Doirenn,  by  the  arras,  called  Bevind  and  her  father. 

"You  told  me  of  enchantments  men  make  on  maids 
when  of  evil  mind,"  she  said.  "  The  power  Ruadan  learned 
as  a  monk  he  would  turn  to  much  usage  today.  Was  it 
by  tales  of  dreams  you  witched  the  ring  from  a  queen's 
hand?  And  witched  the  Lady  Luaine  to  the  forest?" 

And  then  she  laughed  and  went  out  and  left  them  there. 
But  when  Bevind  found  her  in  her  chamber  she  was  weep 
ing  bitterly  and  would  not  tell  them  of  the  dream  or  the 
enchantment. 

And  within  seven  days  Fethna  was  glad  of  heart  to 
take  her  to  Cluain-mac-noise  for  the  year  of  preparing  a 
soul  for  the  veil.  Between  her  weeping  for  Geroid,  and 
the  raging  of  his  own  sons  there  was  no  peace  for  a  quiet 
man  in  his  own  house. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  golden  tresses  of  Doirenn  were 
covered  by  the  white  novice  veil  and  she  began  life  anew 
in  the  great  school  by  the  Sionan,  famed  for  its  learning 
from  Gaul  even  to  Egypt. 


UT  the  year  of  her  preparation  had  not  ended  when 
Ruadan  again  rode  to  the  dun  of  Fethna.    He  was 
hollow  of  eye,  and  his  spent  horses  were  glad  of 
rest  and  fodder. 

"Is  there  aught  of  Doirenn  na  Marvan  known  to  you?" 

[46] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


he  asked,  and  the  sons  of  Fethna,  who  had  taken  wives  and 
forgotten  the  golden  maid  who  had  flouted  them,  looked 
at  Ruadan  and  laughed. 

"How  is  a  man  to  know  of  a  veiled  maid?"  one  asked. 
"The  walls  are  high  and  the  fair  ones  are  well  guarded." 

"I  was  on  the  south  shores  and  I  heard  her  voice;  it 
was  her  voice,  there  is  none  other  like  that.  It  was  her 
voice  calling  —  a  troubled  voice." 

"  How  could  you  hear  a  voice  from  the  center  of  Erinn  to 
the  south  shore?"  they  said,  but  Fethna  looked  in  the 
fierce  face  of  Ruadan  and  bade  them  be  silent. 

"Your  father  Ferdiad  had  'the  sight,'"  he  said,  "but 
my  thought  has  been  that  it  did  not  come  to  you  because 
the  priests  were  down  on  you.  They  can  take  away  power 
if  they  think  of  it!  What  is  it  you  would  do  because  of 
that  calling?" 

"I  would  answer  it,"  said  Ruadan.  "No  gate  of  a 
nun's  dwelling  would  open  for  me,  but  you  have  women 
about  you.  Take  one  and  make  a  gift,  and  let  me  ride 
beside  you.  The  call  was  coming  to  me  and  the  gift  I  will 
provide.  I  will  pledge  them  a  book  more  fine  than  the  one 
of  my  youth  made  for  the  abbot's  gift  to  Clonard.  My 
hand  has  not  lost  its  craft  —  I  vow  this  thing!" 

There  was  much  talk  of  which  wife  would  go,  and  the 
dress  to  wear,  and  to  carry,  for  Bevind  had  wed  and  gone 
north  to  Orielle.  Also  the  best  horses  were  to  bring  in, 
and  food  to  prepare.  Hours  were  wasted  ere  they  started 
on  the  way. 

They  would  have  been  as  well  not  starting,  for  soon 
they  met  people  in  fright  and  with  awesome  news. 

While  Turgesius  harried  the  south  shore  and  strength 
ened  the  Danish  holdings  there,  Queen  Ota,  the  pagan 
priestess  of  terrible  things,  had  won  to  the  heart  of  Erinn 
by  the  Sionan.  She  and  her  brother,  Amlaf,  had  a  fleet  on 

[47] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


Lough  Rea  and  Lough  Boderg.  A  fort  of  theirs  was  over 
at  Rinnduin  and  the  lands  were  ravaged  by  them.  A 
battle  at  Cluain-mac-noise  had  won  the  churches  and  mon 
asteries  for  the  queen.  Monks  and  nuns  were  killed,  and 
there  was  much  burning  of  all  houses  of  farmers  or  herders. 
Not  a  handful  of  thatch  was  left  on  a  house  for  miles,  and 
runners  had  been  killed  with  spear  and  with  arrow. 

It  was  too  late  for  help.  The  warriors  of  Queen  Ota 
were  on  the  walls  and  in  the  towers  of  Cluain-mac-noise. 
They  held  the  Sionan  to  north  and  south.  It  was  not  for 
nothing  that  the  great  night-sun  with  the  tail  of  fire  swept 
like  a  besom  over  the  skies  of  Erinn  that  year.  The  young 
had  fear  on  them,  and  the  old  went  in  secret  ways  to  the 
high  places  of  ancient  druidcraft  and  made  answering 
fires  that  help  might  come  their  way  if  the  way  of  the 
saints  failed  them.  Though  bishop  thundered  from  the 
altar,  and  monk  prayed  in  the  cell,  yet  fires  did  blaze  where 
the  temples  of  ancient  faiths  remained,  but  no  prayer  and 
no  spell  swept  away  Ota  and  her  mate  —  or  swept  away 
that  fiery  trailing  thing  among  the  stars ! 

There  were  those  who  called  it  the  war  warning  of  the 
Dane,  and  the  worst  of  all  the  evils  it  announced  was  the 
sacking  of  Cluain-mac-noise,  because  great  wealth  of 
jeweled  books  and  costly  gifts  was  centered  in  that  place. 


of  Doirenn  who  was  fosterling  of  Fethna?  " 
asked  Ruadan  of  the  fleeing  host. 

"  No  one  is  knowing  that.  Ota  likes  not  women 
about  her  except  for  labor  to  save  her  men.  The  young  and 
strong  may  be  taken  overseas  as  slaves  —  no  one  can  know 

L48] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


that.  West  to  the  sea  along  the  Sionan  Ota  has  her  swift 
carmen  as  couriers  to  bring  quick  warnings,  and  a  fort 
is  there  at  Luimneach  for  all  supplies,  cattle  and  horses 
are  held  for  her,  and  the  people  of  the  land  only  live  by 
her  mercy  to  harvest  their  own  crops  for  her  warriors. 
It  is  a  sad  time  under  the  dreadful  star  for  the  people  of 
Erinn." 


UADAN  looked  about  the  little  huddled  group,  pale 
with  horror  of  what  had  been,  and  in  further  dread 
of  what  might  be:  with  one  army  of  the  foreigner 
on  the  south  shore,  and  one  in  the  very  heart  of  the  land, 
and  the  fearful  star  of  danger  sweeping  the  heavens !  He 
took  Fethna  aside,  and  when  they  were  alone  he  spoke  as 
follows : 

"  Go  you  back.  This  is  not  the  game  of  an  old  man. 
Bid  your  sons  keep  silence  as  to  the  call  I  heard;  I  had 
too  much  of  hill  and  valley  to  cover  and  have  come  too 
late.  I  will  take  my  gille  and  go  a  day's  ride  farther.  I 
may  learn  somewhat." 

"It  is  better  not  to  go,  and  not  to  know,"  said  Fethna. 
"When  I  was  younger  than  you  they  stole  the  maid  I 
was  to  wed ;  their  ships  sailed  out  to  sea  and  no  word  was 
ever  coming  back.  What  is  there  to  do  for  one  man 
against  an  army?  What  is  there  for  you  to  do  at  Cluain- 
mac-noise?  We  can  gather  men  and  fight  them  out,  but 
it  will  take  time.  While  we  are  getting  our  clans  and 
arms  together  they  will  have  ravaged  the  land  and  sailed 
away." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Ruadan.     "Send  your  couriers  to 

[49] 


UAyvy 

THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


every  point  while  I  go  on  and  see  as  I  may.  I  will  be 
back  for  a  spear  when  the  time  comes,  rest  you  easy  on 
that." 


'O,  with  his  servant,  he  went  on  in  deep  thought 
and  silence,  striving  to  find  ways  to  answer  that 
call  of  Doirenn,  who  held  him  in  bitter  disdain. 

When  half-mad  wanderers  were  met,  fleeing  from  the 
Danish  scourge,  and  smoking  ruins  were  seen  afar,  Ruadan 
halted  in  a  grove  of  little  oaks  and  washed  in  the  stream 
and  took  more  sightly  apparel  from  the  bag  carried  on 
the  horse  of  the  servant.  A  purple  cloak  from  overseas  he 
put  on,  and  from  the  lining  of  a  girdle  he  took  a  golden 
ring  with  a  great  red  jewel  of  beauty,  and  set  it  on  his 
hand. 

"From  here  you  take  the  back  road,"  he  said  to  his 
servant,  "and  if  you  would  favor  me,  and  the  house  in 
which  your  family  had  protection  of  spears,  this  is  the 
time  for  the  favor." 

"  Tell  it  and  it  is  done,"  said  the  man. 

"There  may  be  half-Dane  spies  among  these  fleeing 
people.  When  they  ask  of  me  tell  them  I  have  made  quar 
rel  with  my  clan,  and  that  the  monks  call  me  'God's 
Dastard '  for  putting  off  the  robe  and  letting  my  hair  grow 
as  God  meant  it  to." 

"It  is  a  hard  thing  you  are  asking,"  said  the  servant, 
"for  it  is  myself  has  had  many  a  fight  to  deny  your 
unfaith." 

"  I  know  that  without  words  else  I  would  not  be  trust 
ing  you.  Say  what  you  can  to  let  them  think  I  have  cast 

[50] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIREM 


off  my  own  people  to  follow  Queen  Ota  and  her  fortunes. 
There  will  be  no  need  to  say  it  to  them,  they  will  say  it 
for  you  if  they  are  given  the  hint.  They  will  call  me 
'pagan'  because  I  follow  a  pagan  queen.  And  you  can 
be  sad  and  of  downcast  countenance,  and  say  a  prayer 
against  evil  for  me.  Never  fear  it  will  get  to  Ota  herself 
before  you  get  to  your  home." 

"And  where  will  I  be  waiting  for  you,  Ruadan?" 
"In  paradise,  man,  and  good  luck  to  you  on  the  way! 
Go  you  back  to  Ardsolais.    Tend  the  herds  and  wait  what 
comes.    It  is  not  with  chance  our  life  is.** 


he  mounted  his  horse  and  when  his  servant 
looked  downcast  at  the  parting,  Ruadan  tried  to 
cheer  him,  and  sang  words  of  the  hymn  of  Saint 
Colum  for  a  journey. 

//  is  alone  I  am  on  the  mountain, 

O  King  Sun  of  the  luck])  Toad! 

There  is  nothing  to  fear  on  that  road! 

If  I  had  three  score  hundreds  of  armies 

To  defend  the  body 

When  the  day  of  my  death  comes 

There  Is  no  strong  place  to  hold  out  against  It. 

Whatever  Cod  has  settled  for  a  mortal 
He  will  not  leave  the  world  until  he  meets  it. 
Although  a  high  head  goes  looking  for  more 
He  will  not  get  the  size  of  a  grain  of  it! 

He  that  is  spent  may  find  death  in  a  church 
Or  on  an  island  of  a  lake  he  may  find  It; 
He  that  has  luck  to  his  way 
His  life  will  be  safe  in  the  front  of  a  battle! 

C51] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 

Q^jg) 

It  is  alone  I  am  In  a  wilderness, 
O  King  Sun  of  the  lucky  road! 
There  is  nothing  to  fear  on  that  road! 


QUEEN  OTA,  wife  of  Ragnor  who  was  called  Thor's 
servant,  Thorgille  —  "  Turgesius  "  by  the  Christian 
land  —  was  a  thing  of  strange  beauty  in  her  first  sail 
ings  with  the  fleets.  Flaxen  straight  hair  of  a  child  was 
hers  —  silken  straight.  Her  face  had  a  slim  whiteness,  and 
her  eyes  of  amber  were  the  eyes  of  a  white  cat.  Men  had 
fought  and  slain  each  other  for  love  of  her  red  mouth  and 
her  round  breasts.  Her  raids  were  more  fierce  than  the 
raids  of  Turgesius  or  Amlaf,  her  brother,  for  no  chief  but 
knew  that  valor  might  win  for  him  more  than  his  share 
of  the  spoil  if  his  deeds  were  worthy  her  smile. 

But  many  sailings  had  been  hers  and  much  profit  from 
Erinn,  and  none  had  been  greater  in  one  place  than  the 
spoils  of  Cluain-mac-noise,  in  the  year  of  the  Great  Star, 
for  princes  of  Gaul  and  Alba  sent  their  sons  to  Cluain-mac- 
noise  and  had  sent  rich  gifts  with  the  sons,  until  the  wealth 
at  the  great  place  of  learning  on  the  Sionan  had  become 
the  wealth  of  kings. 

All  that  wealth  of  gold  and  silver  vessels  and  jeweled 
censor  chains,  and  crosses  of  golden  wonder,  were  heaped 
on  the  floor  of  the  strongest  of  the  stone  towers.  With 
them  were  heaped  the  dreaded  magic  altar-books  of  Erinn, 
in  jeweled  cases.  Neither  church  bell  nor  church  cross 
was  feared  by  the  pagans  of  the  north  seas  as  the  mystic 
writings  of  the  books  were  feared  —  it  was  dark  magic  to 
them,  and  to  be  burned  or  drowned  or  buried  on  every  raid. 

[52] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 

And  Ota,  wearied  after  the  battle  and  sick  of  the  smell 
of  old  blood  —  though  the  red  of  it  fresh  flowing  from  her 
opponents  was  sweet  to  her  as  red  berries  ripening  for 
her  in  a  garden  —  went  within  the  dwelling  from  which 
Ronan,  the  abbot,  had  been  dragged  by  her  men.  On  a 
couch  of  furs  over  which  broidered  silk  of  altars  had  been 
spread,  she  rested  herself  and  spoke  wearily. 

"  Let  none  enter  here  until  my  rest  is  come  to  me,"  she 
said,  and  the  wife  of  Amlaf,  whose  name  was  Gurtha, 
looked  at  her  in  wonder  that  she  would  confess  to  need 
of  rest,  for  the  hatred  of  growing  age  was  with  Ota  always. 
"  But  Barolf ,  chief  of  your  spear  men,  has  been  twice  here 
for  speech,"  said  Gurtha. 

"I  am  wearied  of  Barolf.  When  he  comes  tell  him  I 
take  it  ill  that  he  troubles  me  today." 

But  a  man  stood  in  the  doorway,  broad  of  shoulder, 
his  yellow  hair  reaching  down  to  his  gold-banded  arms. 
"O  Queen,  how  has  Barolf  wearied  you?" 
She  looked  at  him  and  the  amber  eyes  narrowed  to 
golden  slits  under  the  silken  flax  of  her  hair.     He  was  a 
favorite  of  a  year  gone,  who  was  daring  much !    He  waited 
with  folded  arms  —  and  Gurtha  was  watching! 

"Yours  was  the  word  to  the  men  to  burn  the  bodies 
where  winds  brought  stench  to  me,  which  is  weariness 
enough,"  she  said.  "  I  am  badly  served  when  Ragnor  is 
south  and  Amlaf  in  the  north." 

"  Was  it  ill  service  when  my  men  mowed  down  for  you 
the  clerics  and  guard  of  this  place,  and  brought  the  wealth 
of  it  to  your  feet?"  he  asked.  "No  man  of  the  blood  of 
the  queen  has  done  her  more  service  than  that." 

The  queen  looked  at  Gurtha  who  frowned  darkly.  Well 
she  knew  that  Amlaf,  her  man,  should  be  first  of  the  chiefs, 
yet  because  of  his  own  nature,  was  not.  His  sister,  the 
queen,  was  the  greater  warrior. 

[53] 


'HE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


"  Another  time  we  will  speak  of  the  men  of  my  blood," 
said  Ota,  "but  this  day  of  weariness  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  fires  of  the  dead  must  not  be  built  in  these  days  of 
summer.  Illness  is  on  me  from  that  burning.  Your  men 
are  strong  to  dig  the  earth.  Let  them  dig." 

"  It  will  be  done,"  said  Barolf,  "  for  the  hounds  are  now 
full."  He  looked  toward  Gurtha,  and  his  look  spoke  hope 
that  she  be  sent  away,  but  Ota  the  queen  chose  not  to  see 
the  look. 

"That  is  well,"  she  said. 

"And  the  division  of  the  spoils,  O  Queen?" 

"  The  time  for  that  will  be  when  Amlaf  is  with  us  for  the 
counting." 

"  And  that  other  in  the  tower,"  he  began,  but  she  made 
him  secret  sign  for  silence,  and  he  spoke  no  more. 

"  When  Amlaf  is  with  us  I  will  give  you  a  feast  and  we 
will  speak  of  all  the  things,"  she  said  with  less  coldness, 
and  at  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  go. 

"  He  is  not  of  quiet  mind,"  said  Gurtha  darkly,  and  Ota 
laughed. 

"  This  victory  makes  him  look  long  for  the  death  of  Rag- 
nor,  and  his  crown  perhaps,"  she  said.  "  He  forgets  I  have 
a  brother  to  rule  beside  me  in  need." 

"Yet  he  was  high  in  your  favor  with  the  coming  of 
May,"  said  Gurtha. 

"What  of  that?  Springtime  and  summer  bring  differ 
ent  hunger.  I  am  tired  of  huge  white  bodies  and  blue 
eyes,  I  would  rest  myself  with  other  color." 

"You  had  that  other  color  on  the  south  shore  a  year 
ago,  and  Ragnor  had  a  knife  ready,"  warned  Gurtha. 

"You  lie.  The  man  never  was  with  me  alone.  But 
there  was  none  like  him !  Wine-brown  were  his  eyes,  and 
his  curls  were  shadows  of  night  to  nestle  in." 

"  He  has  no  kingdom,  and  no  army  to  fight  for  a  queen 

[54] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


if  he  chose  one,"  said  Gurtha.  "He  is  only  a  noble  of 
Deasmond  who  was  once  a  monk  in  this  place." 

"  In  this  place?  That  would  be  strange  if  it  be  true,  but 
he  looked  not  a  monk  to  me." 

"  No.  He  was  rebellious  and  cast  off  the  robe,  for  some 
anger.  They  call  him  a  name  of  their  own  —  it  means  out 
law  to  their  gods." 

"And  I  let  him  go,  not  knowing  that!"  said  Ota.  "I 
would  I  had  the  year  back  —  he  should  not  go!" 

Gurtha  went  out  and  left  her  regretful  over  a  year  of 
coveted  love  with  one  man,  after  the  many  years  of  love 
with  the  men  she  had  grown  tired  of. 


a  DAY  went  by  and  the  spoils  were  not  divided.    She 
carried  the  key  of  the  treasure  tower  at  her  girdle, 
and  walked  among  the  ruins  her  fierce  sea-wolves 
had   made,   and   thought   of   wine-brown    eyes   and   the 
searching  smile  of  a  man  who  had  as  a  youth  lived  there 
by  the  Sionan  in  sanctuary. 

Kings  and  warriors  had  given  her  wealth  of  love  and 
wealth  of  tribute  but  the  love  of  an  anchorite  was  a  new 
thought.  It  charmed  her  as  the  song  of  a  bird  of  spring 
after  the  nuts  are  ripe  and  the  ferns  past  their  greening.  In 
a  cell  of  stone  she  saw  one  white  robe  untouched  by  ruin, 
and  bade  it  be  sent  to  the  palace  of  the  abbot,  now  her  place 
of  rule. 

She  laughed  with  it  beside  her  on  the  couch  of  rich 
robes  and  silken  broideries,  and  closed  her  eyes  to  fancy 
wine-brown  eyes  beside  her. 

Then  the  impossible  chanced  to  her,  and  gave  her  strange 

CSS] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


belief  in  her  own  powers  in  which  her  devotees  believed, 
and  in  the  power  of  the  strange  trailing  star,  called  "the 
star  of  the  Danes  "  in  Erinn. 


V      »       V      » 

-!!!< 


EOR  a  runner  from  the  south  hills  came  to  her  with 
strange  word,  and  she  put  secrecy  on  him,  and  told 
Barolf  and  told  Gurtha  that  a  strong  ally  of  the 
nobles  of  the  Irish  was  coming  to  swear  fealty,  and  help  in 
the  conquest.  One  would  bring  two,  and  in  time  all  Erinn 
would  be  ruled  from  the  center  by  the  children  of  Thor. 

Barolf  secretly  mocked,  but  the  other  men  did  not  mock, 
for  they  had  fought  the  Irish  and  would  rather  have  them 
as  comrades  than  as  enemies. 

"  Strain  not  your  eyes  looking,"  Barolf  laughed,  and  went 
up  the  river  to  the  fort  there  of  Rinnduin. 

For  all  that,  they  did  climb  on  the  walls,  and  did  look 
toward  the  hills  of  Meath,  and  when  afar  they  saw  one 
horseman  who  rode  steadily  and  without  fear,  their  won 
der  was  great,  for  he  was  tall  and  handsome  and  dark 
Irish,  and  no  other  Irish  in  that  day  was  seeking  alone  any 
fort  of  the  Danes. 

"  Tell  the  stranger  Ota  sees  no  man  of  Erinn  who  comes 
without  gauge,"  said  the  queen,  but  she  laughed  and  the 
robe  she  put  on  her  was  a  robe  of  richness  as  if  to  greet 
a  king  of  great  armies. 

"O  Queen,  the  man  brings  a  gauge,  and  his  word  is 
that  it  was  a  key  of  all  gates  when  you  wore  it." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Ota,  and  looked  at  the  ring  he  sent. 
"  Give  it  to  his  hand  in  courtesy  and  lead  him  to  me.  It 
is  still  a  key  to  all  gates  for  Earl  Ruadan." 

[563 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


Ruadan  walked  between  lines  of  men  with  lifted  spears 
until  he  reached  her  portal.  Two  of  the  elder  chiefs  en 
tered  with  him,  and  Gurtha  was  there  watching. 

"I  come  without  bard  to  chant  your  praises  or  my 
wishes,"  said  Ruadan.  "I  come  without  men-at-arms  or 
wealth  or  cattle.  I  bear  no  shield  for  battle,  though  I 
will  take  one  at  your  hands.  My  own  clan  put  shadow 
on  my  name  because  I  cast  off  the  robe  of  a  monk.  The 
priests  add  their  word  to  my  blame,  and  I  will  take  service 
with  you,  Queen  Ota  of  the  ships,  or  I  will  go  over  to 
Gaul  and  fight  there  if  you  have  no  spear  or  no  shield  as  a 

gift." 

Ota  looked  on  her  head  men,  and  saw  that  the  words 
pleased  them. 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  gift,"  she  said,  and  her  smile  was 
level  and  steady  while  the  head  men  were  there,  and  Gur 
tha  was  there. 


UT  when  they  were  gone,  it  was  not  a  gift  of  shield 
or  spear  she  would  give  Ruadan  for  the  enchantings 
of  his  wine-brown  eyes.     Ota  had  been  Queen  of 
Love  always,  and  gave  royally. 

"  I  brought  you  —  I  brought  you  here ! "  she  whispered. 
"  For  a  year  I  have  wished  it  —  and  at  last  you  have  come 
to  me!  You  shall  be  chief  instead  of  Barolf  who  grows 
jealous.  A  knife  from  you  to  him  in  the  dark  and  you 
shall  head  his  fleet." 

"  Give  me  the  knife,"  said  Ruadan. 

She  laughed  and  kissed  him. 

" So  keen  are  you?    O  wine-brown  eyes!  O  dark  man  of 

[57] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


the  red  mouth!  Shields  and  spears  are  in  that  corner, 
and  tomorrow  we  will  make  choice.  Tomorrow  you  shall 
see  the  spoils  of  our  raid  and  choose  a  jewel  gift  from  me." 
"But  the  man  who  stands  in  my  way  to  you?" 
"  He  is  gone  north  in  a  boat  at  dawn  and  no  one  stands 
in  your  way  to  me.  When  he  comes  again,  and  Amlaf, 
my  brother,  comes,  we  divide  the  spoil,  but  this  night  is 
ours  and  tomorrow  night  may  be  ours.  See?  I  hold  a 
monk's  robe  here  in  memory  of  you,  and  dreamed  of  dark 
eyes  and  kisses,  and  through  the  wilderness  you  brought 
them!" 

Gurtha  lied  for  the  queen  to  the  men,  but  the  men 
laughed,  and  knew.  They  were  told  that  Ota  promised  a 
wine  feast  of  welcome  to  the  Irish  earl,  and  that  glad 
dened  them,  for  they  would  get  their  share,  and  the  wine 
of  the  cloisters  was  good. 


was  starlight  and  it  pleased  Ota  to  walk  with 
Ruadan  in  the  night.  And  the  cell  where  he  had 
once  slept  was  where  she  would  go.  It  was  whole 
and  in  no  ways  injured.  She  kissed  him  there,  and  asked 
of  his  dreams  there,  and  of  the  Lady  Luaine  and  the  song 
made  of  him  a  year  agone  —  all  things  heard  of  him  had 
been  remembered  by  her. 

But  he  laughed  and  wound  her  long  cloak  of  silk  about 
her  lest  the  river-damp  do  her  hurt,  and  would  not  tell 
her  the  things  she  asked. 

"  What  difference  does  her  beauty  make  when  I  left  all 
others  to  follow  you?"  he  asked.  "There  is  only  one 
queen." 

[58] 


THE:  ENCHANTING  or  DOIRENN 


The  men  on  the  walls  saw  them  and  made  jests,  for  the 
trailing  star  left  no  darkness  anywhere.  None  watched 
too  closely;  for  their  outposts  were  many  and  there  was 
no  enemy  near  for  an  uprising. 

"  Tomorrow  we  look  at  the  spoils  in  that  tower  there," 
she  said.  "I  would  that  Barolf  be  the  one  to  tear  the 
jeweled  covers  from  the  mystic  book  of  Christ's  men 
before  the  books  are  burned.  There  is  evil  magic  in  them, 
and  I  want  no  black  enchantment  from  them.  We  will 
have  Barolf  live  long  enough  for  that  work  of  danger. 
But  go  he  must.  He  has  wish  for  the  place  of  Amlaf,  my 
brother,  and  it  is  making  troubles." 


VS^  os^^\  cJCXXJ^ 

O         ^  NNiNrf 

-<^l &4LdLdL 


looked  up  at  the  tower  where  a  white  face 
moved  at  the  narrow  slit  in  the  stone  wall  —  the 
face  did  not  reach  the  height  of  a  man. 

"You  have  a  guard  there  besides  the  key  at  your 
girdle?"  he  asked,  and  she  pressed  his  arm  quickly. 

"  Speak  not  of  that  before  Gurtha,"  she  whispered. 
"  It  is  a  young  thing  with  a  golden  mane  I  am  hiding 
for  Amlaf.  There  is  no  other  place  to  keep  her  from  the 
men,  and  from  Gurtha's  knife.  Amlaf  sulked  because  of  a 
girl  he  lost  in  his  last  raid  —  I  need  his  help  to  get  Barolf 
out  of  my  path,  and  the  girl  is  a  fair  bribe.  I  dare  not  send 
her  to  him.  When  he  comes  he  can  hide  her  in  a  boat  and 
take  her  to  the  north  if  she  pleases  him.  If  she  please  him 
not,  she  can  go  with  the  others." 

"And  that  is  — where?" 

"  I  never  ask  about  women  unless  I  need  them.  There 
was  a  convent  across  the  raised  road,  but  I  see  no  women 

[59] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


there  now,  and  hear  none."  Then  she  held  his  arm  with 
both  her  hands,  and  looked  up  at  him  in  the  dusk  and 
laughed  shortly.  "  The  other  men  may  follow  their  will 
in  a  raiding,  and  take  their  women  as  they  choose,  but 
\)ou  must  take  no  maid  to  wife ! " 


sun  was  high  in  the  morning  when  Ota  the 
queen  took  her  serving-man,  who  was  her  slave, 
and  her  new  guest,  of  the  Irish,  to  the  tower  of  the 
spoils.  The  serving-man  carried  a  dish  of  food  and  told 
Gurtha  it  was  for  a  hound  with  a  litter  of  wolf  pups,  but 
he  did  not  pass  the  tower  with  the  food. 

The  outer  door  was  unbarred,  and  the  inner  door  un 
locked  with  the  queen's  key ;  a  ladder  was  there,  and  the 
queen  was  helped  up  by  Ruadan,  his  arm  circling  her  for 
safety.  The  slave  sent  up  the  dish  of  food  in  a  basket  by 
a  rope  of  grape  vine. 

"  There  are  ladders  above  and  floors  above,  but  the  upper 
door  is  chained  now  because  of  the  red  bird  caged  here 
for  Amlaf,"  said  the  queen. 

By  the  narrow  slit  of  the  embrasure  a  girl  stood  as  far 
from  the  opened  door  as  she  could  get.  She  was  flattened 
against  the  stones  of  the  wall  in  terror,  and  clasped  to  her 
was  a  flat  golden-brown  book,  and  the  gold  of  its  cover 
was  set  with  amber  disks,  and  pearls  of  the  sea. 

Ruadan  of  Ardsolais  knew  that  book,  for  his  own  hand 
had  wrought  it  and  it  was  the  writings  of  Mark  the  Saint, 
and  the  chapter  in  it  was  that  of  the  sermon  of  the  sea,  and 
the  great  faith  when  the  storm  of  the  sea  obeyed  the  Voice. 

The  Abbot  Ronan  had  asked  it  as  a  gift  for  Clonard, 

[60] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


but  Clonard  had  been  sacked,  and  he  saw  again  his  lost 
handiwork. 

In  a  corner  were  many  other  books  —  great  piles  of 
vellum  in  their  rich  casings.  And  on  and  around  them 
were  chains  of  gold,  and  necklets  of  gems,  woven  armlets, 
and  silver  sandals,  silver  trappings  of  chariots  and  war 
horses  were  stacked  with  the  rest,  and  women's  jewels 
in  girdle  or  torque,  or  ring,  beyond  belief.  The  sun  struck 
on  the  heap  through  an  embrasure  and  set  it  all  aglitter 
against  the  gray  stone  of  the  wall. 

"  It  speaks  a  brave  hosting,"  said  Ruadan,  and  lifted  the 
jeweled  shrine  in  which  a  tiny  bell  of  holiness  tinkled.  He 
never  looked  at  the  girl. 

"I  will  take  all  the  bells  for  the  decking  of  our  steeds 
when  I  ride  the  forests  with  you,"  said  Ota  the  queen. 

"  Nay,  it  will  not  be  bells  we  will  care  to  carry,'*  said  Ru 
adan,  and  she  laughed,  well  content,  and  emptied  a  leathern 
bag  of  altar  jewels  on  the  stone  floor.  A  golden  bell  and  a 
jeweled  chalice  were  there,  and  a  wondrous  monstrance  of 
gold  all  aglitter  with  ruby  and  amber  and  pale  pearls.  A 
censor  of  jeweled  chains  was  there,  and  armlets  and  neck 
lets  thrust  in  among  the  vessels  of  holy  use.  Ota  lifted 
from  them  a  gorgeous  necklet  set  with  smoldering  rubies. 

"  This  has  been  gift  of  some  king  of  the  far  world,"  she 
said,  "  and  it  goes  well  with  the  ring  you  had  from  me  a 
year  ago.  I  have  brought  you  to  choose  a  gift ;  choose  the 
richest  you  can  carry." 

"My  thought  is  that  I  could  carry  you  if  your  long 
cloak  would  not  tangle  my  feet  on  the  ladder." 

She  laughed  at  that,  and  clasped  the  necklet  on  him  and 
loosened  the  lacing  of  his  garment  that  it  might  be  hidden 
next  his  skin.  Then  she  glanced  at  Doirenn,  rigid  and 
white  against  the  wall. 

"Look  at  her  face,"  she  said  laughing.  "If  she  has 

[61] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIftENN 


looks  of  such  scorn  at  Amlaf  he  will  not  risk  the  knife  of 
Gurtha  for  her!" 

"  So  good  a  sister  should  make  a  good  wife,"  said  Rua- 
dan;  "few  women  would  pick  so  much  of  beauty  in  a 
slave  —  unless  for  sale." 

"  Yes,  I  am  good  to  my  men,"  agreed  Ota.  "  They  are 
strange  children.  They  can  be  starved,  and  wounded,  and 
beaten,  but  if  they  get  their  toys  at  the  end  of  the  raid 
their  songs  are  only  victory.  Yet  — "  and  she  looked  at 
Doirenn  in  thought  and  then  turned  to  Ruadan,  "think 
not  because  I  would  give  such  gift  to  a  brother,  or  a  hus 
band,  that  I  would  allow  one  to  a  lover!  So  choose  your 
gift  from  the  spoils  of  kings,  O  Ruadan ! " 


nE   laughed   with   her   and   fastened   a   great   gold 
brooch  in  her  sweeping  cloak. 

"  My  choice  is  only  a  jewel  for  your  wearing,"  he 
said.    "  Are  you  ready  to  go  down?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Ota  the  queen.  "Why  is  that 
girl  staring  hate  at  us?  Ruadan,  I  like  it  not.  She  holds 
that  book  of  the  altar  magic  and  it  may  be  she  works  a 
spell!  Ruadan,  could  it  be?"  And  she  clung  to  him  and 
stared  at  the  hate  in  the  eyes  of  Doirenn.  "  Why  do  you 
look  frozen?  You  have  life  left  you,  and  food  and  shelter. 
You  were  not  counted  among  the  women  for  whom  lots 
were  drawn.  What  rage  is  then  yours?" 

"  The  grief  is  mine  that  in  all  that  heap  of  jeweled  sacri 
lege  there  is  no  thing  of  flint  or  of  iron  with  edge  for  a 
maid  of  Erinn,"  said  Doirenn,  and  from  the  safe  shelter  of 
the  arms  of  Ruadan,  Ota  gained  courage  again. 

£62] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


"  A  knife  might  be  there/*  she  ventured.  "  You  have  no 
task  all  these  days  but  to  search  among  this  wealth  of 
beauties  until  Amlaf  comes  and  finds  your  beauty." 

"There  is  no  knife  else  only  my  body  would  be  here 
for  your  mockings  this  day,"  said  Doirenn. 

"  Your  caged  bird  of  beauty  croaks  like  a  battle  crow," 
said  Ruadan  and  laughed.  "There  are  friendlier  places 
than  this  place.  Come,  O  Queen!" 

"But  that  book  she  clasps?  It  is  a  thing  for  fear  and 
why  should  she  covet  that  when  these  jewels  are  in  her 
reach?  Art  sure  it  could  be  no  spell  she  works  against  us?" 

"  No,  it  could  not  be.  What  does  a  stripling  maid  like 
that  know  of  books?  I  risk  your  gift  in  wager  that  she 
knows  not  the  readings.  Give  me  the  book." 

Doirenn  did  not  give  it  to  him,  but  she  shrank  against 
the  wall  as  he  approached  and  let  go  of  it.  He  turned  the 
leaves  and  looked  at  her  in  scorn. 

"There — "  he  said,  and  thrust  it  again  into  her  hand. 
He  took  her  other  hand  roughly  and  placed  her  finger  on 
certain  lines  of  the  open  page.  "There,  O  young  nun  of 
the  books,  read  me  that ! " 

But  she  only  looked  at  him  in  horror. 

"  God's  worst  dastard  —  you ! "  she  said. 

"What  does  she  mean?"  asked  Ota.  "I  need  not  save 
her  for  Amlaf.  I  can  send  her  to  the  men  if  she  does  you 
ill.  Was  that  a  curse?" 

"  No  curse :  it  is  only  a  name  the  monks  called  me  when 
I  learned  I  was  not  fit  for  endless  pen  work,  and  endless 
prayers.  Come!  The  wild  thing  will  not  eat  while  she 
has  us  to  stare  at." 

With  tenderness  he  helped  the  queen  down  the  wooden 
ladder  and  drew  into  place  the  stone  slab  of  the  floor. 

Doirenn  gazed  after  him,  wide-eyed,  hopeless.  He  did 
not  turn  one  look  toward  her. 

[63] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


Her  hand  was  still  on  the  page  where  he  had  thrust  it 
so  roughly,  and  her  eyes  rested  there,  and  then  she  sank 
down  among  the  jeweled  trophies  and  stared  incredulous. 

For  there  in  beauty  equal  to  the  jewels  about  her  were 
the  words  —  "  Why  are  ye  so  fearful?  How  is  it  lhat  jje  have 
no  faith?" 


m     'tin- 


wine  feast  of  Queen  Ota  was  a  victory  feast  for 
all.  Gurtha  was  angered  that  it  was  given  before 
Amlaf  returned;  neither  had  Barolf  come.  Early 
she  went  to  her  sleep,  and  said  in  going  that  if  word 
should  reach  the  ears  of  Ragnor  that  it  was  a  wedding 
feast,  she  wanted  not  to  be  dragged  forward  for  ques 
tion! 

But  Ragnor  was  far  to  the  south,  the  wine  of  the  monas 
tery  was  old  and  was  good,  and  Ota  left  the  filling  of  her 
cup  to  Ruadan  of  Ardsolais  of  the  far  mountains. 

She  whispered  that  his  eyes  worked  magic  without  the 
brimming  cup  of  gold  he  offered  her,  but  he  kissed  the  cup, 
and  she  emptied  it,  and  talked  her  dreams  of  empire  — 
and  other  dreams. 

When  the  feast  was  ended  he  broke  jewels  from  the 
necklet  to  give  her  women  as  bribe,  and  himself  bore  the 
queen  to  her  silken  couch,  and  rested  beside  her  until  all 
was  silence,  and  the  last  reveller  of  the  night  sunk  in  sleep. 

When  the  deep  hour  of  the  night  had  come,  he  took  the 
key  from  the  girdle  of  the  queen  — the  cloak  of  hers,  and 
the  veil  she  wore  in  the  sun,  a  dagger  and  a  shield  and 
spear  he  took  from  the  place  of  arms,  and  the  shoes  of  the 
queen  he  took. 

[64] 


THEENCHANTJGOFDOIRENN 

He  listened  to  her  breathing,  and  drew  the  dagger  from 
its  sheath-  He  knew  the  right  thing  to  do,  for  one  dagger 
thrust  was  small  payment  for  the  nuns  of  Cluain-mac- 
noise  —  but  he  thought  of  Doirenn  and  halted. 

With  the  queen  living  there  could  be  only  a  jealous 
rage  and  a  brief  search  for  him  and  for  the  maid.  But 
with  the  queen  dead  by  his  hand,  there  would  be  Thorgille 
and  Amlaf  and  Barolf  on  the  trail,  and  all  her  devoted  men 
with  hate  for  him  and  vengeance  on  the  maid.  Erinn 
might  not  be  big  enough  to  hide  her  in.  Even  from  his 
own  kinsmen  he  might  get  only  curses  and  hounds  on  his 
track  when  they  learned  he  had  stolen  away  a  maid  of  the 
cloisters.  Another  man  might  be  given  good  thoughts  for 
such  stealing,  but  not  Ruadan  who  had  paid  eric  to  Cairell, 
and  had  worn  love  gift  of  Ota. 

To  no  dun  of  a  friend  could  he  take  her,  else  that  house 
would  be  stormed  and  the  place  left  waste.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  the  caves  of  the  hills  until  the  fleet  of 
Ota  was  gone  from  the  waters  of  the  Sionan. 

He  thought  of  old  forgotten  sanctuaries  of  the  early 
monks,  if  he  could  win  south  to  the  Skelligs  and  lay  hid 
den,  or  reach  to  Arran,  or  hide  in  the  grottoes  of  the  loughs 
in  lar  Connaught,  carved  ages  ago  by  De  Danaan  magic ! 

These  thoughts  were  with  him  as  he  gathered  swiftly 
the  needed  things,  and  took  last  reluctant  look  at  Ota  the 
queen  to  whom  he  should  deal  death.  Grief  was  on  him 
that  it  must  not  be  done  by  his  hand  if  he  would  save  the 
scornful  holy  thing  in  the  tower. 

So  secure  were  all  the  guards  of  the  outer  walls,  and  the 
far  points  of  vantage,  that  those  of  palace  and  cloister 
slept  heavily  and  without  care  after  the  wine  feast.  It  was 
not  as  an  armed  camp  they  rested,  but  a  safe  household. 

He  kept  to  the  shadow  of  the  walls  from  point  to  point 
and  reached  the  tower  safely.  No  guard  was  there,  and 

[65] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


he  unbolted  the  door  below  it  in  silence,  and  bolted  it 
back  of  him  in  the  darkness. 

The  queen's  key  served  at  top  of  the  ladder  and  he  felt 
that  the  girl  was  again  crouched  against  the  far  wall. 

"  Haste,"  he  whispered,  "here  are  shoes  and  cloak.  Take 
a  leathern  bag  in  which  the  spoils  were  carried  and  thrust 
the  garments  in  that.  We  have  muck  and  mire  to  wade 
through  ere  a  boat  is  ours." 

"  Give  me  a  knife  that  I  may  die  here,"  she  made 
answer.  "  You  are  a  greater  thing  of  fear  than  the  north- 
men." 

"  Geroid  is  waiting  a  call  of  safety ;  I  am  his  voice,"  he 
whispered. 

"  Geroid ! "  and  her  voice  was  a  flutter  of  hope.  "  I  will 
trust  his  trust  of  you,  if.  ...  you  give  me  a  knife ! " 

"  It  is  here  to  your  hand." 

The  dagger  of  the  queen  was  passed  to  her  in  the  dark 
ness,  ere  she  would  take  cloak,  or  shoes,  or  move  a  step 
toward  the  door. 

"  Haste ! "  he  whispered  as  he  heard  her  empty  the  bag 
with  a  little  click  of  metal  on  stone,  "  haste,  for  the  night  is 
brief." 

She  crept  to  the  ladder  but  halted  as  his  hand  touched 
hers. 

"  Put  no  touch  on  me,"  she  muttered.  "  If  die  I  do,  it 
will  not  be  in  handclasp  with  the  queen's  lover." 

At  foot  of  the  ladder  he  knelt  and  felt  over  the  flagstone 
paving  in  the  dark,  and  she  heard  heavy  breathing  as  he 
worked  fiercely  among  the  rubbish  and  tossed  aside  sacks 
of  grain  stored  there  for  siege.  Then  he  found  the  stone 
for  which  he  was  searching  and  threw  all  his  strength  into 
his  task. 

Doirenn  felt  a  rush  of  damp  air  where  she  stood.  It  had 
the  smell  of  the  river  in  it. 

166] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 

"The  way  is  hard  and  narrow/*  he  whispered.  "Also 
it  is  wet  under  foot.  Give  me  the  bag." 

"No,"  she  said,  "sacred  things  are  in  it:  the  holy  book 
and  jeweled  chalice,  not  to  be  touched  by  God's  outlaw.  I 
am  strong,  I  can  follow." 

At  first  it  was  dry,  then  the  dampness  came,  then  the 
water,  and  she  was  wading  near  to  the  knees  but  wading 
toward  the  open.  A  tangle  of  vines  and  brush  was  to 
push  through  and  she  saw  the  glimmer  of  the  Great  Star 
on  the  still  river. 

"  Steady,"  he  said,  and  moved  up  a  space  where  the 
small  boats  were  moored.  A  guard  slept  in  one  and 
Ruadan  stood,  girdle  deep,  beside  it. 

There  was  enough  light  to  see  the  bare  throat  of  the 
man,  and  strike  true  that  no  slightest  cry  go  out  on  the 
night.  He  twitched  once  or  twice  and  lay  still  forever. 

Ruadan  unfastened  the  boat  and  guided  it  back  to  where 
Doirenn  stood,  fearful  and  alert. 

"  Get  in,"  he  whispered,  and  she  did  so,  not  noting  the 
Dane  until  she  stumbled  and  felt  warm  blood  on  her  hand. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  but  Ruadan  climbed  dripping 
into  the  boat  and  took  up  the  oars,  but  did  not  answer. 

He  dared  not  row,  lest  the  dip  of  the  oars  be  heard. 
They  drifted  in  the  darkness,  making  no  more  sound  than 
an  otter  swimming  in  the  night. 

Doirenn  stared  at  the  still  thing  by  her  feet,  and  thence 
to  the  still  man  of  horror,  who  was  perhaps  her  safety, 
and  wrapping  herself  in  the  cloak,  she  drew  close  the 
sacred  helps  in  which  all  her  trust  was. 

A  late  and  fading  moon  came  up  over  the  forest  as 
Ruadan  used  the  oars  for  speed  — they  had  passed  the  last 
fire  of  a  river  guard  in  safety. 

The  weird  light  showed  the  staring  open  eyes  of  the 
dead  man  at  her  feet. 

£67] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


"  Dead  and  unshriven ! "  she  gasped  in  horror,  "  and  you 
with  the  soul  stain  of  blood  on  you ! " 

"  It  is  the  first  of  the  men  for  whom  Bronach  was  wash 
ing  grave  clothes  in  the  dream  I  rode  to  tell  you  of  a  year 
ago,"  said  Ruadan.  "  I  saw  his  face  yesterday,  and  knew 
he  was  the  man.  When  we  come  to  the  high  reeds  of  a 
meadow  brook  we  will  hide  him  there  until  the  crows 
find  him.  There  will  be  others." 

Until  the  edge  of  the  day  they  bore  the  weight  of  the 
body  ere  a  rushy  place  was  reached  where  a  boat  could 
enter  leaving  no  broken  reeds  near  the  sweep  of  the  river. 
Far  in,  where  a  bog  would  hold  the  body,  Ruadan  stripped 
him  of  cloak  and  ax,  and  left  him  to  the  black  earth. 

"You  make  not  a  prayer,"  said  Doirenn  in  horror, 
"  though  well  you  were  taught  the  ways  of  prayer." 

"It  is  yours  to  pray,"  said  Ruadan.  "My  knife  did 
murder  for  you  on  him  because  you  would  not  heed  the 
warning  I  brought  you  from  the  mountains  of  the  south 
a  summer  gone." 

"  It  was  enchantments  you  spoke,  and  not  warning.  The 
enchantments  of  men  of  evil  are  things  to  fear." 

"Truth  is  truth  —  whether  holy  or  unhallowed,"  he  said 
darkly. 

"Who  is  Bronach?"  she  asked  after  a  long  silence, 
while  he  sought  other  channel  where  the  reeds  would  leave 
no  trace  as  he  swept  again  into  the  Sionan. 

"  She  is  the  washer  of  the  ford.  She  washes  in  the  land 
of  souls  the  garments  of  men  doomed  to  die.  For  my 
house  to  see  her  means  death  by  us  or  for  us.  In  a  dream 
you  stood  beside  her  in  my  land." 

"  The  priests  forbid,"  she  began,  but  he  stopped  her  with 
a  gesture. 

"Talk  me  no  priestcraft!  Bronach  is  older  than  foreign 
priesthood  in  Erinn." 

[68] 


THE  ENCHANTING  Of  DOIRENN 


"  If  I  held  not  a  holy  book  close  in  my  hands  for  soul 
help,  I  am  thinking  the  sky  would  fall  on  us  with  all  its 
stars  for  that  saying,  or  the  water  of  the  Sionan  run  back 
ward  from  the  sea!" 

"  It  will  do  that  in  spite  of  your  book,"  he  made  answer, 
but  she  gave  him  no  belief.  She  did  not  think  the  truth 
was  with  Ruadan  at  all. 

She  watched  him  in  dread  and  in  disdain  while  he  bent 
to  the  oars  in  the  dawn.  The  boat  skimmed  the  air  like  a 
bird  under  his  tremendous  strokes. 

"This  is  the  time  of  the  sun  they  will  be  searching," 
he  said.  "One  night  is  all  we  have  in  the  lead  of  them, 
but  many  oarsmen  has  Ota  the  queen.  Their  course  will 
be  swift  after  they  start  the  search." 

No  guards  of  the  river  or  lake  were  stationed  in  the 
middle  land  between  Cluain-mac-noise  and  Killaloe,  for 
forest  and  meadow  and  island  were  stripped  of  Irish  herds 
men  and  Irish  homes  along  the  Sionan.  He  toiled  lustily, 
with  the  current  in  his  favor,  while  the  day  was  young 
and  the  way  clear,  knowing  that  cover  must  be  found 
ere  midday,  and  all  other  water  journeys  must  be  in  the 
night. 

When  a  fair  place  of  shelter  came  in  their  path  he  turned 
the  boat  to  the  mouth  of  a  meadow  brook  and  crept  care 
fully  over  the  black  waters  drained  from  bogs  beyond. 

It  was  none  too  soon,  for  his  breath  was  scarce  even 
again  from  the  labor  until  a  man  was  seen  by  them  lean 
ing  on  a  spear,  moving  swiftly  west  above  the  meadow 
reeds;  his  head  was  turned  ever  from  side  to  side, 
searching.  , 

The  boat  and  the  oarsmen  could  not  be  seen  because  of 
the  height  of  the  swamp  growths  and  the  distance.  But 
their  swiftness  was  a  wonder  to  view:  it  would  be  a  good 
horse  to  be  beating  it. 

[69] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


But  they  swept  out  of  sight,  and  Ruadan  knew  the 
lough  toward  the  sea  was  now  a  place  of  danger. 

"  They  have  no  trail,  and  that  is  a  good  help,"  he  said. 
"  Now  while  the  sun  shines  there  is  only  the  woods  for  us, 
and  it  may  be  berries  or  roots  for  food." 

Far  he  went  inland  where  the  boat  was  lifted  over  shal 
lows  into  a  little  still  lough  under  shadow  of  the  wood. 

"  'Twill  serve,"  he  said.  "  Nothing  but  the  wild  cattle 
may  be  coming,  and  it  is  a  hiding  place." 

He  left  her  to  get  out  as  she  might  and  wade  with  wet 
feet  in  the  sedgy  marge.  Her  looks  at  him  were  ill  and 
fearful,  and  she  clutched  to  her  the  bag  in  which  the  sacred 
helps  were  borne. 

"  I  have  no  liking  for  this  place,"  she  said,  "  and  it  will 
not  be  resting  under  birchtrees  we  will  find  Geroid." 

Ruadan  made  no  answer.  The  labor  had  been  to  the 
limit  of  strength.  He  drank  of  the  cool  water  and  cast 
himself  on  the  turf.  She  frowned  at  the  discourtesy. 

"Where  is  Geroid,  O  Queen's  Lover?"  she  asked.  "It 
is  to  him  I  am  going." 

He  looked  long  at  her,  darkly  frowning.  He  had  killed 
a  man  for  her,  and  was  risking  life  for  her,  yet  she  had  no 
thought  for  a  creature  of  earth,  but  thought  only  of  that 
anchorite  who  had  turned  to  prayer  and  a  bed  of  stone, 
and  would  not  look  in  her  deep,  seeking  eyes. 

"  By  the  Elements !  It  is  to  your  Geroid  you  shall  go," 
he  swore  roughly.  "  My  thought  is  that  he  is  in  his  glory 
without  you,  but  that  is  nothing.  Though  we  circle  Erinn 
to  find  the  way  to  him,  it  is  to  Geroid  you  will  go !  Sor 
row  on  the  night  you  called  for  help  and  I  was  the  fool  to 
answer." 

She  let  fall  the  leathern  bag  and  sank  down  beside  it  — 
her  eyes  wide  in  wonder. 

"How  are  you  knowing  that — and  you  an  evil  man  in 

[70] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


an  evil  world?  I  did  send  the  call.  On  my  knees  I  made 
the  prayer  that  holy  Saint  Kieran  might  help  the  call  go 
out  to  some  soul  beyond  the  walls  —  and  you  —  you  —  " 

"  I  heard  it  in  my  sleep  and  knew  your  voice  though  I 
had  only  heard  it  when  weighted  heavy  with  hate.  Also 
I  followed  it." 

She  brooded  over  that  long,  and  drew  the  book  to  her. 

"You  followed  Ota  the  queen,"  she  said  at  last,  "and 
you  fled  in  the  night  with  her  jewels  on  you  lest  her  kins 
men  return  and  spear  you  to  the  ground." 

"  You  shall  go  to  your  Geroid,"  he  muttered,  and  got  up 
and  walked  away. 

So  wearied  was  she  that  she  fell  into  sleep  there  in  that 
warm  hour  when  the  wind  and  the  bees  and  birds  all 
swept  drowsily  through  the  low  green  branches.  So  thick 
were  they  that  a  dusk  was  on  the  turf,  though  beyond  their 
shadow  the  yellow  light  of  sun  was  a  glory. 

It  was  beyond  he  had  gone,  and  in  her  sleep  she  thought 
he  had  gone  over  some  edge  of  the  world  where  she  could 
not  find  him.  She  woke  with  a  moan  of  fear. 

She  lay  there  thrilled  by  a  sort  of  terror  that  she  had 
wanted  him  —  it  was  a  thing  she  could  not  understand, 
and  puzzling  things  angered  her.  That  thought  of  evil 
enchantments  of  his  would  not  go  away. 

Then,  while  she  framed  a  prayer  against  magic  and 
druid  spells,  a  sweet  smell  came  to  her,  so  close  she 
thought  it  was  part  of  a  dream. 

But  it  was  a  better  thing,  for  fresh  sweet  blackberries 
were  heaped  beside  her,  and  a  little  apart  Ruadan  sat  with 
his  back  to  her,  eating. 

She  had  not  known  how  hungry  she  was  until  she  tasted 
the  melting  sweetness  of  them,  and  then  she  determined 
that,  on  the  rest  of  the  way,  she  would  pick  her  own 
berries  —  there  was  anger  on  her  that  she  had  not  done  it. 

C71] 


THEENCHANTlGOFDOIRENN 


As  she  moved  away  to  look  for  more,  he  spoke. 

"  You  are  not  to  go  from  this  shadow,"  he  said,  "  Cattle 
are  beyond,  and  a  hut  of  a  herder ;  we  have  far  to  go,  and 
meat  will  be  good  to  have.  I  am  going  in  a  circle  till  I 
come  to  them,  that  no  track  will  seem  to  come  from  here, 
for  this  must  be  the  hiding  place  of  you." 

"And  if  foreign  men  are  there?  If  they  take  you  —  if  I 
am  lost  alone  in  this  place  where  you  bring  me?" 

"  It  is  not  in  this  place  you  will  be  lost.  In  the  dream  I 
saw  you  to  the  west,  and  that  place  is  yet  to  find." 

No  more  than  that  he  said,  and  no  look  did  he  give  to 
see  if  it  was  well  or  ill  she  liked  it. 

She  crept  back  to  the  birchtree  shadow,  and  watched 
him  go,  and  she  held  the  book  with  its  precious  work  and 
precious  words  close  to  her  bosom,  and  was  making 
prayers  on  it  —  the  prayers  of  Phadraig  the  Saint  against 
enchantments. 

With  the  eyes  of  her  closed  she  went  over  the  prayers 
and  over  them  again,  and  the  sun  was  in  the  very  center 
of  the  sky.  Two  wood  doves  came  close  and  spoke  their 
loves  sweetly  in  a  rowan  bush  near,  and  listening  to  them 
was  like  listening  to  the  silver  string  of  the  magic  harp  of 
the  god  of  music,  for  the  silver  string  has  the  wood  music 
of  sleep  in  it. 

The  sun  was  low  to  the  edge  of  the  forest  trees  and 
was  red  as  a  signal  fire  of  danger  when  she  woke.  The 
doves  were  flown  away,  and  the  world  was  very  still 
about  her. 

He  had  not  come  back,  and  she  felt  fear  at  the  wide 
aloneness  of  the  deep  forest  and  the  reedy  marge  of  the 
wide  lough ;  alone  she  could  not  make  her  way  even  to  the 
flowing  Sionan  or  Dearg  below. 

She  looked  the  way  he  had  gone,  and  listened  for  faint 
est  sound  of  his  step  until  every  droning  bee  set  her  heart 

[72] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DQIRENN 

to  thump.  When  she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  she  looked 
at  her  knife's  edge,  tied  the  leathern  bag  of  the  sacred 
things  to  her  girdle,  and  looking  with  care  to  all  things  by 
which  the  return  way  might  be  found,  she  ran  with  swift 
feet  to  the  last  point  from  which  he  had  vanished  in  the 
green. 

No  living  thing  was  in  sight,  and  she  went  on  more 
slowly.  There  was  a  hill  to  climb,  and  from  that  height 
she  had  hope  to  see  the  cattle  toward  which  he  had  gone. 
On  the  high  point  of  the  hill  there  was  a  circle  of  stones, 
and  two  with  strange  spiral  carvings.  These  magic  places 
of  the  old  gods  had  curious  legends  in  Meath,  and  she 
drew  close  to  her  the  holy  things  of  the  altar  as  she  stood 
in  the  shadow  of  the  great  stone  to  look  westward  over 
the  plain. 

The  herds  were  there,  but  they  were  only  far  moving 
specks,  no  more  size  to  them  than  birds.  But  among  them, 
or  near  them,  she  could  see  no  man. 

But  the  hut  of  stone  and  timber  at  the  edge  of  a  wood 
she  did  see,  and  sat  long  in  the  shadow  of  the  huge  stone 
watching  for  a  sign  of  any  living  thing  —  and  no  sign  was 
there. 

Then  she  crept  through  fern  and  gorse  at  the  edge  of  the 
land  where  the  cattle  fed,  and  dragged  herself  along  the 
brink  of  a  dark  wooded  glen,  and  the  hut  was  at  the  wall 
of  that  glen,  and  the  look  from  there  was  a  wide  look  for 
the  herding. 

A  sound  came  to  her,  and  her  thought  was  that  her 

heartbeat  was  loud  in  her  ears  from  the  fear  of  the  still, 

strange  place.    And  she  crept  more  close  and  knew  it  was 

not  her  own  heart,  for  it  was  a  man  breathing,  and  the 

*  breath  was  a  rattle  in  the  throat. 

Through  a  chink  in  the  hut  she  could  see  the  man,  and 
him  a  stranger  and  a  great  dog  dead  near  him.  The  man 

[731 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


was  stained  with  blood  and  was  looking  with  no  good 
looks  at  something  her  eyes  could  not  see. 

He  was  reaching  for  a  long  knife  with  blood  on  it  —  far 
from  him  it  had  fallen  —  and  there  was  a  stagger  to  every 
movement  he  made,  for  great  weakness  was  on  him. 

Yet  he  watched  one  way  whilst  he  crept  to  the  knife  and 
fell  as  if  dying,  yet  roused  himself  to  creep  again  a  little 
ways. 

The  blood  of  Doirenn  went  cold  from  that  look  of  hate 
on  him,  and  then  blazed  keen  and  hot  to  learn  why  the 
knife  was  coveted  even  in  the  face  of  death. 

With  the  dagger  of  Ota  the  queen  unsheathed  in  her 
hand,  she  crept  to  the  low  door,  and  the  low  sun  of  the 
west  pierced  to  the  dark  corner  where  Ruadan  lay.  She 
could  see  no  movement  of  him,  yet  she  knew  he  was  not 
dead,  for  if  it  had  been  so,  the  foreign  man  would  not  reach 
thus  for  the  knife,  or  creep,  dying  himself,  on  a  wounded 
foe. 

She  had  no  plan  of  attack,  yet  as  he  grasped  the  knife 
and  lifted  it  over  the  body  of  Ruadan,  she  leaped  through 
the  door,  and  her  dagger  struck  deep  and  true  in  the  neck 
of  the  stranger. 

He  gurgled,  choked,  and  lay  still. 

She  crept  back  to  the  wall  and  sat  there,  wild-eyed  and 
fearful.  She  had  not  meant  to  do  the  thing  before  her :  to 
strike  the  knife  from  him  had  been  her  thought.  But  the 
right  hand  of  her  had  done  its  own  task  despite  any 
thought  of  hers. 

The  lowering  sun  slanted  over  his  dead  face,  filling  her 
with  horror  at  the  moving  shadows  of  it.  Her  teeth  chat 
tered  with  chill  at  the  dead  man  and  dog,  and  at  the  other 
man  whose  breath  she  saw  lifting  ever  so  little  the  lacings 
of  his  garment. 

It  was  that  piteous  little  breath,  no  deeper  than  of  a 

[74] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


child  in  arms,  by  which  she  was  urged  at  the  last  to  draw 
near.  She  felt  frozen,  and  the  leathern  bag  with  the  sacred 
helps  lay  without  the  portal,  but  without  that  help,  and  in 
forgetfulness  of  prayer,  she  crept  forward. 

He  lay  in  a  pool  of  blood,  black  and  stiff.  His  shoulder 
bore  a  deep  gash,  and  the  red  tide  yet  came  faintly  at  each 
breath.  A  long  slant  of  a  blade  had  creased  his  brow  and 
his  face  shone  gray  white  where  the  dark  smear  had  not 
touched  it.  It  all  seemed  to  have  chanced  a  long  time 
before. 

That  thought  coming  to  her,  she  went  over  where  the 
dog  lay  and  touched  it ;  stiff  it  was  and  cold.  .  .  .  While 
she  had  slept  in  drowsy  rest  under  the  birchtree  Ruadan 
had  fought  out  a  battle  of  fierceness  with  the  huge  foreign 
man  and  the  dog  stretched  there  as  big  as  a  calf.  The  two 
men  had  all  but  killed  each  other.  Each  had  thought  his 
enemy  gone  out  of  life  ere  he  gave  way  to  weakness  or 
swoon,  and  the  foreign  man  had  wakened  first. 

Terror  went  from  her  suddenly  when  the  mystery  of  it 
went.  There  was  left  only  a  wounded  man  for  her  care, 
and  she  knelt  beside  him  and  loosened  the  lacings  of  his 
garment  as  she  had  seen  the  white  fingers  of  the  queen 
unlace  it  in  the  tower. 


sun  set,  and  the  other  suns  rose  ere  he  wakened 
to  knowledge.     Troubled  phantoms  of  blood  and 
death  were  with  him  in  his  weakness,  and  a  strange 
presence  he  did  not  know. 

It  was  in  a  rosy  dawn  he  wakened  to  know  the  walls, 
and  how  he  had  first  found  them,  but  the  strange  presence 

[75] 


THC  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


was  like  mist  of  the  seal oam  —  ever  about  to  take  form 
in  his  mind,  and  ever  fading  again. 

And  out  of  that  fog  of  dreams  and  phantoms  of  carnage 
a  vision  of  Paradise  came  to  him. 

It  was  perhaps  the  slant  of  the  sun  through  the  mists  of 
the  morning  by  which  the  magical  thing  was  wrought,  but 
where  the  sun-kissed  green  had  been  seen  through  the 
portal,  there  was  at  once  a  glory  of  gold  beyond  any  glory 
of  saint  told  him  in  the  teachings.  He  looked  at  her  and 
thought  of  Brighde,  the  ever  young,  when  bondmaid  to  her 
druid  master,  bearing  cups  and  bowls  of  common  things 
made  holy  by  touch  of  her  hands. 

For  she  stood  there  with  the  sun  making  a  halo  of  her 
red-gold  hair,  and  in  her  two  hands  was  held  a  golden 
chalice  of  richest  handicraft,  set  with  the  thirteen  flashing 
stones  of  beauty. 

The  chalice  was  brimming  with  foam,  of  new  milk,  and 
when  she  saw  his  eyes,  wide  open,  she  stood  silent,  wait 
ing,  but  the  look  in  her  eyes  was  the  look  of  Brighde,  ever 
the  giver,  the  serving-maid  to  whom  the  angels  sang. 

"  You  are  a  dream,  and  not  truth,"  he  muttered.  "  You 
are  Brighde  the  goddess ;  you  are  the  fiery  arrow  of  radi 
ance  in  hearts  of  men ;  you  are  Love,  and  you  are  Knowl 
edge.  When  the  priests  could  not  stamp  you  out,  they 
made  a  saint  of  your  name  to  hold  the  worship  of  you. 
You  are  the  vision  always  beyond  a  soul  —  you  are  only  a 
dream,  and  I  could  wish  you  truth." 

"  The  warm  milk  is  true  as  if  in  a  wooden  bowl  instead 
of  a  golden  chalice,"  she  said.  "  Two  days  it  has  been  your 
food,  and  has  served  you  fairly." 

He  drank  it  as  a  gift  of  God,  and  stared  at  her. 

"And  it  is  a  vision  come  true,"  he  said.  "Two  days? 
And  I  not  alone  here.  There  were  others— -a  dog  and  a 
man  I  killed." 

[76] 


v/w 

THE:  ENCHANTING  or  DOIRENN 


"They  were  dragged  and  rolled  over  the  cliff  of  the 
glen.  There  was  no  other  way,"  she  said. 

"And  this?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  mass  of  soothing 
poultice  on  his  shoulder. 

"  It  is  anemone,  a  flower  of  healing.  I  but  gathered  it  and 
bruised  the  leaves.  The  work  of  that  was  nothing.  The 
only  task  of  fear  was  to  hold  you  from  wandering.  Too 
restless  were  you  for  the  boat  and  the  road  of  the  Sionan." 

"And  you  did  it?  I  dreamed  of  your  hands  touching 
me;  I  thought  it  a  dream  of  Brighde  who  was  goddess 
and  then  saint." 

He  went  asleep  again  almost  as  he  spoke,  for  the  weak 
ness  was  yet  on  him. 


he  wakened  his  thoughts  were  more  steady, 
and  he  asked  if  the  golden  chalice  had  been  a 
thing  of  dreaming. 

"I  took  it  from  sacrilege  in  the  tower,"  she  confessed. 
"  It  was  the  cup  of  sacrament,  and  not  to  be  left  to  pagans 
if  my  life  could  give  it  guard." 

He  looked  at  her  long,  with  thoughts  of  that  day  in  the 
tower,  and  asked  where  her  dagger  was. 

"  It  is  no  longer  with  me  —  I  have  taken  instead  the  one 
of  the  herder." 

"The  other  had  sharp  slimness  and  value  of  gold  and 
jeweled  hilt." 

"This,  with  the  horn  of  a  deer  for  handle,  is  a  cleaner 
thing." 

He  thought  she  meant  cleaner  than  a  knife  touched  by 
the  hand  of  Ota,  and  his  well  hand  went  up  to  his  neck 

C77] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


where  the  necklet  rested  —  the  gold  of  it  had  saved  him  a 
death  stroke  of  the  herder. 

"  This  necklet  has  served  its  task,"  he  said.  "  It  can  take 
its  place  with  the  other  spoils  saved  by  you." 

"  It  has  no  place  among  them,"  answered  Doirenn  coldly. 
"  I  saved  only  holy  things  from  sacrilege." 

And  he  saw  by  that  he  had  said  the  wrong  thing,  for  she 
was  no  longer  the  Brighde  of  tender  service  —  she  was  a 
gold-crowned  judge  who  looked  down  from  a  far  height. 

He  held  in  his  memory  the  wordy  condemnation  of  the 
priests,  and  of  Ronan  the  abbot,  but  it  was  easier  to 
endure  their  revilings  than  her  frozen  look  when  she 
remembered  the  love  gift  and  caressings  of  Ota  the  queen. 

"  It  is  to  your  Geroid  you  shall  go,"  he  said,  and  looked 
at  her  darkly,  and  went  out  from  the  hut  of  the  herder, 
though  the  blue  of  the  sky  and  green  of  the  turf  were  as 
one  before  his  eyes  because  of  the  weakness  on  him. 

It  was  better  to  be  in  the  woods  alone  with  his  tranced 
vision  of  Brighde,  than  to  face  the  cold  scorn  of  the  maid 
who  had  seen  the  white  hands  of  Ota  on  his  throat. 

But  despite  the  look,  or  the  word  of  scorn  for  him, 
Doirenn  was  not  at  ease  if  he  was  long  out  of  her  sight. 
Never  had  she  outgrown  the  fear  of  what  she  had  felt  at 
sight  of  the  great  dead  dog  and  the  dying  foreign  man 
crawling  for  the  knife. 

There  was  trouble  on  her  for  the  thing  she  had  done, 
and  no  holy  man  anywhere  to  take  her  confession  and 
lighten  her  mind.  Prayer  she  could  make,  and  did  —  but 
for  the  sending  of  an  unshriven  soul  to  God  there  was  no 
comfort,  and  her  thoughts  had  no  sunshine. 

Sometimes  there  was  terror  on  her  because  she  could  no 
longer  judge  Ruadan  for  the  stark  body  at  her  feet  in  that 
first  awesome  night.  From  the  rath  of  Fethna  to  the  gar 
den  of  the  nuns  at  Cluain-mac-noise  had  been  all  the  world 

[78] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRCNN 


known  to  her.  Even  in  the  raid  of  the  Danes  on  her 
father's  house,  when  the  black  smoke  of  burnings  had  left 
her  without  roof  of  her  own,  or  kindred  of  her  own,  she 
had  been  borne  to  safety  before  the  battle. 

Of  the  foreign  men  who  were  pagans  she  thought  no 
more  than  of  wolves  in  a  pack  leaving  death  on  their  path, 
but  for  Ruadan,  called  evil,  yet  with  knowledge  of  godly 
things,  she  could  find  no  gentle  excuse  —  until  her  own 
hand  had  the  secret  stain  of  blood  on  it! 

By  that  was  she  made  kindred  in  evil  to  him,  and  the 
shining  beauty  of  her  was  under  shadow  from  the  thought. 


m 


HS  strength  came  back  and  the  wound  healed,  he  had 
curious  looks  at  her,  ever  with  the  book  of  amber 
and  pearl  of  sea  on  the  cover.    But  when  he  spoke 
of  it  she  frowned  her  reproof. 

"  It  is  holy,  and  it  is  a  safe  charm  to  lead  me  out  of  the 
wilderness." 

"  Yet  is  it  made  by  the  hand  of  a  man,"  he  said. 
"How  should  you  be  knowing  that? "  she  asked.    " It  is 
knowledge  not  for  sinful  men.    My  own  thought  is  that 
Saint  Kieran  sent  an  angel  to  do  the  words  of  this,  it  may 
be  that  a  man  made  the  cover." 

"  It  may  be,"  he  said.  "  May  the  charm  of  it  lead  you 
safely,  for  another  night  we  leave  this  place.  I  am  able. 
Even  Dermot  and  Grania  never  hid  so  long  on  the  way  to 
happiness  as  we  here." 

"  There  is  a  difference,"  she  said,  and  she  blazed  a  rose 
red  at  thought  of  Crania's  love. 

"  There  is,"  he  agreed.    "  Dermot  had  to  his  aid  friends 

[79] 


THE:  ENCHANTING  or  DOIRENN 


and  gods.  The  pagan  gods  are  driven  out  by  Christian 
bells  and  there  is  only  the  wilderness  for  us  with  that 
white  cat  on  the  trail.  I  must  find  hiding  for  you  and  leave 
you  there  and  gather  men  of  the  west  to  serve  as  guard." 

"  I  will  not  be  left  again,"  she  said.  "  To  be  left  behind 
in  darkling  wood,  or  dreary  cave,  gives  me  more  fear  than 
to  be  on  the  way." 

She  drove  in  a  young  cow  and  braided  a  rope  of  vines 
to  hold  her  for  the  killing  that  food  might  be  theirs  on  the 
way,  for  their  journey  along  the  shores  of  Lough  Dearg 
must  be  in  the  nights,  and  all  movement  in  light  of  the  sun 
was  danger. 

With  his  one  well  hand  and  her  two  they  managed  the 
killing,  but  she  turned  away  her  head  because  the  knife 
brought  her  thought  of  the  dead  foreign  man  under  the  cliff. 

Ruadan  went  through  the  russet  fern  and  the  berry 
vines  seeking  the  silky  inner  bark  of  a  dead  tree  for  the 
spark  of  flint  and  steel,  and  when  he  found  it  he  wandered 
on  to  the  circle  of  stones  to  sharpen  spear  and  knife  on  the 
ancient  altar.  When  he  made  his  way  back  he  saw  a 
strange  thing,  for  the  glen  below  the  cliff  was  plain  before 
him,  and  he  stood  very  still  as  if  fearing  the  ancient  gods 
had  heard  his  speech  of  their  fading  away.  There  was  a 
glitter  of  gold  and  a  jewel  among  the  ferns  below  him,  and 
it  was  not  a  place  for  the  seeking  of  such  wealth. 

He  crept  forward,  and  saw  the  dog  and  the  man  who  lay 
face  downward  as  he  had  been  rolled  from  the  cliff.  And 
it  was  in  the  neck  of  the  man  the  jeweled  dagger  had  been 
thrust  deep.  The  sun  shone  on  it  through  a  rift  in  the 
boughs  above,  and  set  it  all  aglitter. 

It  was  the  knife  of  Doirenn,  and  so  deep  had  it  struck 
that  it  took  a  strong  hand  to  draw  it  out.  Away  from 
there  he  cleansed  it  in  the  earth,  and  washed  it  all  in  a 
shadowed  rill,  and  brooded  over  it  in  a  maze  of  wonder, 

[80] 


THL  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


A  woman  of  frankness  like  Ota  the  queen  he  could  know 
the  thoughts  of.  She  said  the  thing  she  wanted  and  took 
it.  If  battle  had  to  be  waged  to  gain  it,  that  battle  she 
fought  like  a  man  and  took  her  victory  prize,  or  put  her 
own  foot  on  the  neck  of  an  enemy. 

But  this  thing  of  radiant  scorn  and  icy  piety  who  thrust 
her  knife  deep  and  went  to  prayer  was  a  different  breed. 
He  would  not  have  thought  her  hand  strong  enough  for 
that  stroke.  The  edge  was  turned  where  it  grazed  a  bone. 

So  he  carried  her  secret  —  and  with  it  the  mystery  of  her. 


HS  they  could,  they  went  from  the  hut  of  hiding  and 
went  seaward  in  the  nights  through  the  great  lough, 
and  hid  in  forest  or  swamp  meadows  or  inlands  at 
dawn,  until  the  churning,  quick  current  was  reached,  and 
there  the  boat  was  hidden,  and  cooked  meat  stored  with 
the  altar  jewels  in  the  leathern  bag,  and  they  went  afoot 
through  dusk  of  the  deep  wood,  or  crept,  hidden,  through 
lush  grasses  of  wide  meadows. 

At  times,  afar  off,  they  saw  men  with  cattle  on  the  hill 
sides,  and  a  boat  of  courier  speeding  down  the  rapids, 
Once  a  warrior's  boat  passed  beneath  a  cliff  where  they 
lay  hidden,  and  glittering  shields  were  bright  in  the 
sun. 

"  Look  well,"  said  Ruadan,  "  for  it  is  Amlaf,  the  prince, 
who  is  on  your  trail.  A  strong  man  is  Amlaf,  with  king 
and  queen  for  his  kinsfolk.  It  may  be  he  could  make  you 
queen  of  Erinn  by  a  lucky  turn,  for  Turgesius  —  which  is 
Latin  for  Thorgille  —  has  great  tribute,  is  not  young,  and 
it  is  said  by  all  that  the  threat  in  the  night  sky  is  the  '  star 

ran 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


of  the  enemy' ;  as  it  grows  strong  —  will  grow  the  strength 
of  the  Dane.  If  gods  fight  against  it,  where  is  the  refuge 
ofErinn?" 

She  looked  as  bidden,  and  the  man  in  the  boat  was 
slender  and  tawny,  with  long  tresses  of  pale  silk  waving 
in  the  soft  air.  Jeweled  he  was  in  great  beauty,  and  his 
armor  was  of  white  bronze.  The  blue-green  of  his  eyes 
was  like  the  glint  of  his  spear-heads,  and  the  cloth  of  his 
garment  was  broidered  with  wires  of  pale  gold. 

"He  is  as  beautiful  as  your  lover,  the  queen,"  said 
Doirenn  in  scorn,  "but  not  so  strong.  He  will  hold  no 
strong  star  in  the  sky." 

Ruadan  looked  at  her  in  gloom  at  the  mocking,  and  after 
a  little  he  laughed. 

"That  naming  of  her  leaves  no  scar  on  me,"  he  said. 
"But  'queen's  lover'  suits  me  ill." 

"Is  it  so?"  asked  Doirenn  staring  after  the  warboat 
with  its  deft  oarsman.  "  Then  again  are  you  kin  to  Dermot 
who  was  not  the  lover  but  the  many  times  loved." 

He  took  the  mocking  blackly  enough. 

"Sorrow  is  mine  that,  like  Dermot,  I  have  no  bread 
unbroken  to  leave  on  the  road  for  them  that  trail  us,"  he 
said.  "  And  you  to  your  Geroid  !  " 

But  she  knew  not  the  meaning  of  the  words  of  broken 
bread,  and  he  saw  that,  and  the  flame  of  his  anger 
went  out. 

"  It  is  ill  enough  to  pass  time  in  rages  when  our  time  on 
this  earth  may  be  ending,"  he  said.  "That  man  below  is 
a  strong  prince  with  a  strong  army  at  the  shore.  Horses 
and  cattle  are  theirs  and  one  spearsman  in  every  Irish 
house  of  Thomond.  No  one  king  of  Erinn  commands 
tribute  today  like  to  the  tribute  of  Turgesius  and  of  Ota. 
Their  swarms  are  here  like  bees  on  honey,  and  no  roof  is 
ours  for  safety.  The  caves  of  lar  Connaught  are  safe  if  we 

[82] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


can  reach  them,  with  your  monk  to  aid.  You  may  have 
your  fill  of  life  in  a  cloistered  cell  ere  the  day  I  can  guard 
you  to  safety." 

"  And  if  —  if  Geroid  is  not  to  be  found?  And  if  all  roads 
are  closed?" 

"Geroid  will  be  found  if  he  is  left  alive.  These  hills 
were  once  hunting  ground  for  me,  and  the  cells  of  Senan's 
men  were  known  as  my  own  mountains." 

"And,  if  he  is  not  left  alive?" 

"  Of  that  we  will  not  speak.  If  Amlaf,  or  if  Ota,  trap 
us  in  their  wide  net,  you  will  die  first,  so  make  your 
prayers." 

She  looked  at  him  long,  and  the  shadow  on  his  face 
caused  her  wonder,  for  she  had  heard  all  evil  of  him  but 
never  that  he  was  of  faint  heart. 

"Is  it  so  far  to  your  own  domains?"  she  asked,  and 
never  before  had  she  asked  of  home  or  kindred  or  life 
of  his. 

"  It  is  not  far  as  the  ravens  fly,  but  my  clan  have  their 
rages  against  me.  After  that  judgment  of  cattle,  not  one 
would  take  spear  for  a  maid  I  would  hide  on  Ardsolais." 

"It  is  said  you  have  good  will  of  Niall  the  king.  How 
can  the  friend  of  a  king  be  without  help?" 

"  The  Lady  Luaine  is  of  the  clan  of  his  mother,  and  the 
grace  of  a  king  can  grow  cold." 

"Like  enough,"  said  Doirenn,  "she  told  them  of  your 
enchantments." 

"  Like  enough,"  agreed  Ruadan,  and  there  was  laughter 
in  his  eyes.  "  A  woman  must  ever  have  ready  some  excuse 
of  magic.  Is  it  enchantment  you  are  thinking?" 

"  What  else  to  think  when  you  are  dark  and  not  hand 
some?  Wives  of  men  put  jewels  on  you  and  follow  where 
you  go.  How  is  that  but  by  enchantings?  " 

"How  indeed?"  asked  Ruadan.  "And  since  you  are 

[83] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


knowing  that,  it  is  a  strange  brave  heart  that  is  in  you  to 
drink  from  the  same  cup  with  me." 

"  The  cup  is  holy  and  is  to  go  with  Geroid  into  sanctu 
ary,  and  the  book  with  me  is  holy.  That  is  my  strength." 

"  Since  it  is  so  I  would  ask  concerning  this  godly  Geroid 
to  whose  sanctity  you  would  trust  them.  Since  my  life  is 
too  evil  for  your  Christian  grace,  what  is  the  saintly  en 
chantment  of  him,  that  a  well-favored  maid  would  cover 
herself  with  a  veil  because  he  chose  to  go  walking  out  of 
her  life?" 

44  Enchantments  are  evil,  and  he  was  never  evil,"  said 
Doirenn.  "He  made  beauteous  verses  and  told  me  his 
love  in  them  sweetly.  He  gave  me  kind  kiss  at  parting, 
and  only  to  God  would  he  give  himself  rather  than  to  me. 
No  payer  of  cattle  was  he,  and  — no  love  of  a  pagan 
queen ! " 

"It  may  be  so,"  said  Ruadan.  "And  when  was  this 
high  loving  of  his  and  of  yours?  " 

"There  is  no  hurt  to  him  in  making  speech  of  that," 
she  answered,  "  and  it  may  bear  its  lesson  to  you.  He  had 
seven  and  ten  years  to  his  age,  and  three  less  to  mine." 

Ruadan  stared,  and  then  strove  to  seem  grave,  yet  were 
his  eyes  full  of  laughter  and  she  saw  it. 

"Yet  he  could  love  and  he  did!"  she  made  protest 
angrily.  "Tablets  were  sent  to  me  often  and  his  verses 
on  them  told  me  that." 

"  Ay,  his  verses ! "  said  Ruadan.  "  From  the  dull  days  of 
schooling  he  would  have  some  fair  thing  to  hear  his  calf- 
loves,  and  you  were  the  most  gracious !  Child,  at  that  age 
I  was  writing  verse  to  Venus  and  Brighde,  and  sad  at  heart 
for  the  ghost  of  fair  Dierdre  who  loved  so  well !  All  the 
world  is  turned  to  love  at  that  age  — it  is  the  schooling 
of  hearts." 

"I   alone   was  his   Venus   and   his   Brighde   and   his 

[84] 


TH£  ENCHANTING  OF  DOMN 


Dierdre,"  she  said  and  drew  back  in  proud  anger  at  his 
jesting.  "How  could  you,  queen's  lover  and  God's  Das 
tard,  read  that  lesson  of  loving,  or  know  holiness  of  such 
writings?" 

Her  anger  was  like  a  lash,  and  almost  it  whipped  him 
into  turning  the  pages  of  her  holy  book  and  show  the  writ 
ing  of  his  own  name  there  cunningly  twined  with  the 
interlaced  scrolls  of  the  last  page.  But  he  knew  it  was  not 
easy  to  believe  that  his  other  days  had  been  filled  by  that 
beauty  of  line  and  color.  It  would  be  to  her  but  another 
proof  of  enchantment  if  he  should  show  it  her,  as  he 
might. 

And  he  put  aside  the  thought  for  another  reason:  it 
would  take  from  her  the  only  thing  to  which  she  trusted 
as  a  link  with  her  saints. 

"Time  is  a  good  story-teller,"  he  said,  and  his  smile 
was  grim  enough.  "  On  a  day  to  come  you  may  know  the 
weight  of  your  words.  Come,  the  hunter  who  seeks  you 
is  gone  beyond  sight,  and  we  can  cover  much  ground  ere 
the  dark  comes  down." 

She  obeyed  him  in  silence  —  half  shamed  because  of  her 
anger  and  his  quietness. 


'HE  still  bore  the  precious  book,  making  prayer  on 
it  through  all  the  terrible  ways  they  trod,  but  he 
bore  the  leathern  bag  in  which  the  food  and  cup 
and  jewels  were  safe.  It  was  strange  to  her,  but 
after  she  had  found  him  wounded  and  given  him  drink 
from  the  cup,  she  no  longer  thought  so  deeply  of 
his  evil  repute,  and  since  the  herder  went  over  the 

[85] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


cliff  with  her  dagger  she  felt  less  bitter  for  the  other  sins 
on  his  soul.  But  when  she  found  herself  thinking  kindly 
of  him  as  a  human  she  grew  angry  with  herself  and  went 
to  her  prayers. 


BLL  of  a  day  did  Ruadan  of  Ardsolais  and  Doirenn  na 
Marvan  lay  in  hiding  of  the  hills  where  the  path 
to  the  high  cell  of  Saint  Senan  could  be  seen  through 
the  branches.     Far  beyond  was  the  smoke  of  the  north- 
men's  fires,  and  footmen  and  men  on  horseback  were  seen 
to  cross  open  spaces.     One  rider,  on  a  steed  of  shining 
black,  had  much  of  glittering  gear  and  waving  flaxen  hair 
—  it  was  Amlaf. 

"  He  has  had  runners  in  these  hills.  See,  they  keep  up 
their  stride  until  report  is  made,  when  they  fall  anywhere 
for  rest.  It  is  well  we  hid  long  in  the  herder's  hut.  Time 
was  given  them  to  make  wide  their  search;  it  is  over  for 
this  place,  and  that  is  well  for  us." 

Yet,  he  watched  long  for  slightest  sign  ere  he  crept 
through  the  tall  fern  and  alder  and  young  oak  on  the  hill 
side.  On  the  ancient  path  in  the  stone  to  the  cell  above 
he  dared  not  venture  until  the  turn  of  the  hill  was  reached, 
and  no  human  thing  in  sight. 

Like  creeping  wild  things  of  the  wilderness,  they  thus 
made  their  way  beneath  the  leafy  coat  of  green  until  the 
steep  path  was  reached,  and  it  in  the  gray  stone  cliff 
narrow  and  winding  and  curving  the  hill  above  the 
lough. 

Then  Ruadan  looked  at  her  with  the  look  of  parting. 

"  It  is  here  I  must  hide  you  until  I  go  up  to  that  place," 

[86] 


vyu/u/ 

THE:  ENCHANTING  or  DOIRENN 


he  said.  "  You  see  the  steepness  and  the  danger.  This  is 
the  place  to  wait  where  the  leaves  are  thick." 

Doirenn  made  appeal  to  go,  but  he  would  not  hear.  Then 
she  kissed  the  cup  from  which  they  had  drunk,  and 
fastened  close  the  leathern  bag  into  which  she  had  placed 
all  sacred  things  but  the  book. 

"Take  these  holy  things  as  warrant  to  a  holy  man," 
she  said,  "  lest  evil  come  to  you  for  intrusion  on  his  pious 
thoughts." 

"  And  it  is  not  evil  you  are  wishing  me  then?  "  he  asked, 
and  looked  on  her  steadily,  but  her  eyes  turned  elsewhere, 
and  rose  color  flushed  in  her  pale  face. 

"I  would  not  that  you  die  in  your  sins,"  she  made 
answer,  and  his  smile  had  weary  bitterness  as  she 
spoke. 

"A  hundred  deaths  of  dread  has  a  man  died  for  you 
those  summer  days,"  he  said.  "  Yet  that  man  breathes 
human  breath.  The  sacred  things  I  will  bear  as  you  bid, 
lest  I  could  not  carry  them,  and  you  also,  on  the  second 
journey  —  if  I  find  your  saint  waiting  you !  " 

"  And  if  your  footing  should  not  prove  sure,  and  if  death 
should  wait  you  on  the  rocks  below?" 

He  stood  still  above  her,  looking  down  where  she  knelt 
with  the  book  against  her  breast. 

"  Here  is  my  answer  to  you,"  he  said,  and  tossed  her  his 
dagger.  "That  is  the  better  part  of  Ruadan.  Give  the 
blade  deep  to  drink  if  the  eyes  of  Amlaf,  or  of  Ota  the 
queen,  look  on  you  again." 

"And  you?"  she  whispered,  "it  leaves  you  without  a 
blade  for  danger." 

"Not  so,  O  Doirenn,"  he  said;  "I  have  a  dearer  thing." 
And  he  showed  her  the  jeweled  hilt  of  her  blade  of  death. 

She  went  white  and  covered  her  face,  and  he  moved 
carefully  along  the  narrow  ledge  with  his  burden  and 

[87] 


TH£LNCHANfTN60FDO(RENN 


shield  and  spear,  up  and  up  until  he  noted  birds  fly  out 
from  nests  in  the  crannies  far  below.  Then  a  sharp  turn 
came  in  the  rock,  and  the  cell  sanctified  by  holy  men  for 
two  centuries  was  the  end  of  the  narrow  way. 


gman  knelt  there  by  the  stone  trough  which  served  as 
bed,  and  no  other  thing  was  there  but  a  cauldron  on 
dead  ashes,  and  cup  and  bowl  of  wood.    Some  moss 
was  heaped  in  a  corner,  and  birds*  eggs  were  in  the  bowl. 

"  God's  blessing  on  the  home,"  said  Ruadan  in  courtesy, 
but  the  kneeling  man  whirled  in  terror. 

"Why  have  you  come  again?  And  why  do  you  now 
speak  in  clear  Latin  and  not  before?"  he  asked,  and  his 
voice  was  high  and  shrill  like  that  of  an  angry  woman  — 
much  more  like  a  woman  even  than  was  the  deep  voice  of 
Doirenn. 

"  I  am  come  because  that  is  my  task,"  said  Ruadan.  "  If 
you  are  Geroid  of  Cluain-mac-noise,  I  have  gift  and  mes 
sage  for  you,  and  I  am  Ruadan  of  Ardsolais." 

The  monk  cried  out  in  horror,  and  waved  him  away. 

"Man  of  blood  and  traffic  in  evil!"  he  said.  "Begone 
from  this  place  of  prayer.  Twice  come  the  Danes  here  in 
search,  with  tales  of  your  murders,  and  your  stealing  of 
maids.  If  they  find  you  here  it  will  be  evil  to  me.  Get 
you  gone!" 

"A  man  of  blood  I  have  been,  and  may  be,"  said 
Ruadan,  looking  in  the  pale,  narrow  face  and  the  eyes  of 
terror.  "But  I  am  also  a  keeper  of  sacred  things,  and 
it  is  your  task  as  a  man  to  help  me  in  the  guarding  of 
them." 

[88] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRtNN 


"You!  You  were  tfie  outcast— God's  Dastard — the 
youth  of  holy  training  who  threw  off  the  robe  for  tempt- 
ings  of  the  world,"  said  the  monk,  and  he  moved  the  width 
of  the  cell  away  and  spread  out  his  thin  hands  as  a  wall, 
lest  Ruadan  move  a  step  nearer.  "  Go  back  to  the  world 
and  bring  not  your  evil  here  where  holiness  has  lived — 
here,  where  in  prayer  I  wait  the  crown  of  sanctity  and 
the  wings  of  angels  in  Paradise ! " 

"I  will  go  back  when  I  have  done  my  task.  I  bring 
here  gold  vessels  of  the  altar  that  you  may  know  my 
intent,  and  below  a  more  precious  thing  waits  for  sanctu 
ary —  it  is  the  maid  they  told  you  I  stole  away  —  it  is 
Doirenn,  daughter  of  Marvan.  It  is  a  body  and  soul  to  be 
saved  by  you,  and  by  me." 

But  Geroid  fell  groveling  beside  the  stone  couch,  waving 
his  hands  in  wild  protest. 

"  Take  your  evils  from  this  place,"  he  cried  out.  "  Have 
I  fought  the  demons  of  woman-temptings  for  naught? 
Seven  times  seven  days  in  the  spring  of  the  year  did  I 
pray  in  water  of  ice  to  my  armpits.  Nine  times  nine 
prayers  have  I  likewise  made  to  that  end,  for  youth  is  still 
on  me!  Is  it  from  the  King  of  Hell  you  are  come  to 
bring  temptings  of  women  who  breed  the  evils  of  carnal 
loves?" 


stared  at  him  as  at  a  wild  dog  he  would 
throttle,  and  then  let  fall  the  sack,  looking  at  the 
wasted  form  and  the  wild  eyes*  He  tried  to  see 

where  her  human  youth  of  the  verses  was  hidden  behind 

the  grievous  mask,  and  could  not. 

[89] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


"  I  need  teaching  to  tell  me  that  love  is  of  Hell,"  he  said. 
"In  a  swoon  of  half  death  in  a  forest  I  had  a  vision  of 
love  with  a  difference.  It  was  a  radiant  love,  bearing 
healing  for  human  ills  — yes  —  and  it  shrank  not  from 
soiled  hands,  or  blood-stained  hands,  in  the  service  —  that 
was  my  vision.  You,  monk  that  you  are,  have  had  more 
than  vision :  As  children,  Doirenn  and  you  have  gone  with 
clasped  hands  and  no  wall  between  you.  She  has  heart- 
love  for  the  remembering  of  that  time  and  she  has  come 
the  hard  way  for  your  help  above  all  men.  You  look  not 
so  much  to  me,  but  the  priests  tell  us  you  are  made 
in  God's  image.  No  god  of  a  man  can  be  a  coward, 
and  we  may  have  enemies  to  overcome  ere  we  get  her 
to  safety,  but  I  am  here  to  help,  and  that  is  my 
message." 

"  Go  you  hence  with  your  sacrilege.  Holiness  does  no 
battle,"  said  Geroid  wildly.  "Go  you  hence  to  your 
bloody  wars  for  women  and  cattle  and  the  things  of  the 
world.  Leave  me  in  peace  with  my  God,  and  the  saving 
of  my  soul." 

Ruadan  listened  and  laughed. 

"To  save  your  own  soul?  By  the  Elements!  I  have 
belief  in  no  man,  and  in  no  god  of  a  man  who  hides  in 
safe  sanctuary  when  white  innocence  flees  from  the  rav- 
isher.  To  sanctuary  here  has  come  Doirenn  who  deems 
you  holy.  If  you  cast  her  out,  she  has  only  Ruadan 
as  safety.  And  all  Erinn  can  tell  you  Ruadan  boasts  no 
holiness." 

"  Get  you  gone !  Your  ways  are  bloody  and  fearful  and 
your  ways  are  evil." 

"  Not  less  evil  than  the  weight  of  my  hand  on  you  if  you 
hearken  not,"  said  Ruadan  darkly.  "  Two  holy  gifts  have 
I  borne  to  you  through  much  danger,  for  the  cell  of  a  monk 
would  seem  best  hiding  place.  One  is  this,"  and  he  emptied 

[90] 


THE  ENCHANTING  Of  DOIRENN 


on  the  floor  of  the  cell  the  gold  and  gem-set  things  of  the 
altar,  "  the  other  is  a  human  soul  in  a  fair  body,  which,  O 
praying  monk,  is  the  holier  thing  for  your  shelter.  This 
is  the  time  for  the  choice  of  a  man." 

The  monk  lifted  the  jeweled  chalice  and  gloated  over 
the  golden  monstrance  with  each  ray  of  the  sun  set  in 
crimson  and  rose  and  yellow  gem. 

"The  man  who  wrought  this  work  had  help  of  the 
angels  of  God,"  he  whispered,  and  made  the  sacred  sign 
as  he  lifted  each  treasure. 

"What  of  the  handiwork  of  angels  in  the  creation  of 
the  stray  maid  of  warm  life,  and  music  of  voice  and  eyes 
of  pureness?  "  asked  Ruadan.  "  Look  at  this  hand  of  mine. 
It  has  been  a  craftman's  hand  in  the  work  you  adore  there ; 
it  has  been  a  bloody  hand  in  the  work  you  hide  from  here, 
the  work  of  the  world !  It  is  a  strong  hand  and  not  yet  a 
conquered  hand.  Yet  it  shakes,  as  my  soul  shakes  at 
thought  of  that  fair  creation  when  God  spoke  Doirenn 
into  this  world  of  ours.  Make  your  choice  of  the  holier 
thing,  O  monk  she  deems  holy!  This  is  the  time  for 
your  choice  as  a  man  —  and  by  your  choice  and  hers, 
Ruadan  abides.'* 

"Get  you  gone  from  holy  ground  with  your  sacrilege 
of  creation  and  Hell's  vision  of  carnal  loves!"  screamed 
Geroid,  and  held  the  monstrance  of  red  gold  between  his 
own  body  and  Ruadan.  "  The  things  of  holy  altars  I  will 
hold  at  God's  will,  but  name  no  name  of  woman  in  the  ears 
of  God's  chosen  —  they  drive  out  the  music  of  angels' 
wings ! " 

Then  a  cry  came  to  them  —  the  cry  of  a  woman,  and 
close,  and  Geroid  fell  on  his  knees  in  terror,  and  gathered 
close  the  glittering  jewels,  and  Ruadan  unslung  the  short 
spear  from  his  back. 

"It  is  the  time  for  the  choice  of  a  man,"  he  said,  and 

[91] 


sped  as  a  cat  along  the  narrow  path  to  the  turn  where  he 
had  last  looked  down  on  her. 

But  a  man  on  a  black  stallion  waited  there  instead,  and 
the  face  was  the  face  of  Amlaf,  brother  of  Ota  the  queen! 


nE  looked  up  and  laughed,  and  the  thing  he  laughed  at 
was  Doirenn,  who  stood  on  the  narrow  ledge  waiting 
Ruadan,  and  in  her  hand  was  his  dagger. 

"You  were  so  keen  for  his  choosing  that  your  heart 
could  not  wait  that  I  save  your  feet  this  hardship?"  said 
Ruadan,  darkly  mocking. 

And  the  monk  in  the  cave,  and  the  prince  on  the  black 
stallion,  were  as  far  from  them  both  as  was  fear,  when  she 
looked  in  his  eyes. 

"I  followed,  O  Ruadan,  lest  he  do  you  harm  for  your 
life  as  a  man  of  sin.  And  I  listened,  O  Ruadan,  that  your 
dagger  might  in  truth  drink  deep  if  you  made  me  his  por 
tion  —  and  you  going  elsewhere,"  and  his  dagger  was  held 
with  the  book,  in  love,  against  her  breast. 

"  To  my  heart ! "  he  said,  and  circled  her  with  his  arm, 
and  she  was  borne  along  the  path  by  him  while  his  eyes 
searched  below  for  glitter  of  spears  or  followers  of  the 
prince. 

Amlaf  fitted  an  arrow  to  his  bow  and  waited  the  turn 
where  Ruadan  would  be  fair  target  without  hurt  to  the 
coveted  maid  of  beauty. 

But  the  hand  of  Ruadan,  thrilled  by  the  love  of  her,  was 
strong  and  steady.  His  spear  had  been  sharpened  at  the 
altar  place  of  the  old  gods,  and  the  cast  of  it  took  Amlaf 
in  the  throat  as  he  looked  up  laughing.  After  that  he 

CttJ 


THE  ENCHANflNG  OF  DOIRENN 


laughed  no  more  on  earth  but  went  to  his  own  Norse  gods 
of  the  summer  sailors. 

Ruadan  stripped  him  of  his  warrior  garb,  and  weighted 
the  body  with  stone,  and  cast  it  in  the  waters  of  Lough 
Dearg,  while  Doirenn  stood  on  the  shore  holding  the  quiv 
ering  steed,  alert  at  the  presence  of  Death, 

Ruadan  looked  about  him,  and  looked  at  the  girl,  whose 
face  was  a  drooping  flower,  and  whose  hair  was  a  golden 
veil 

"Look  up,  O  Doirenn,"  said  Ruadan,  "for  this  is  the 
end  of  the  dream!  This  is  the  shore  on  which  I  saw  you 
with  Bronach  —  washer  of  raiment  for  the  dead.  Beyond 
this  all  is  dark  to  me  on  the  road." 

"  Not  so/'  she  said.  "  We  have  walked  together  through 
the  nights  of  the  evil  star,  but  now  the  light  is  ours." 

He  caught  her  to  him,  and  kissed  and  mocked  her. 

"  This  is  all  your  prayers  and  your  glittering  book  served 
you  against  enchantings,"  he  said. 

"They  served  me  well,"  she  made  answer  staunchly. 
"In  the  sickness  of  the  wound  I  prayed  for  your  life. 
Here,  where  you  left  me,  I  prayed  that  Geroid  might  take 
into  sanctuary  the  altar  jewels  but  leave  me  free  for  always 
to  walk  with  you/' 


HMONG  the  Danes,  that  wood  by  Lough  Dearg  gained 
weird  tales  of  Irish  enchantings,  and  the  reason 
was  that  Amlaf  the  prince  had  ridden  along  the 
marge  for  his  pleasure  one  summer  day,  and  never  came 
again  into  the  sight  of  mortals. 

Belief  it  was  in  these  enchantings  and  in  the  powers 

[93] 


THE  ENCHANflNG  OF  DOIRENN 


of  the  mystic  books  of  Christ's  men  that  went  far  to 
lead  the  invaders,  also  by  this  time  weary  of  their  raiding, 
back  to  their  own  shores. 


HAR  north  in  Connaught  a  youth  in  dress  of  the  north- 
men  was  seen  with  Ruadan  riding  a  black  steed  with 
royal  chains  of  silver  in  his  furnishings.  The 
cropped  hair  of  the  youth  was  the  color  of  the  sun,  and 
Latin  was  his  only  speech.  He  was  named  Angus  and 
called  a  prince  of  the  foreigners,  but  heart-companion  to 
Ruadan.  Not  while  Ota  and  Turgesius  held  sway  in  Deas- 
mond  did  Ruadan  go  south  out  of  Connaught,  or  let  the 
youth  see  the  lands  of  the  south. 

And  when  he  went  again  into  his  own  domain  of 
Ardsolais  a  woman  of  mystery  rode  beside  him,  and  for 
her  radiance  of  beauty  she  was  thought  a  fairy  mistress 
such  as  men  of  olden  time  had  met  at  some  edge  of  the 
mortal  world. 

He  called  her  Brighde  the  Beautiful,  and  all  the  people 
were  calling  her  that,  and  she  was  his  wife,  and  the  cattle 
of  Ruadan  stayed  on  his  own  hills  after  she  came. 


m     JH 


ECAUSE  of  the  vanishing  of  Amlaf  the  prince  no 
Danes  climbed  again  to  the  cell  of  the  solitary  monk, 
and  after  the  weakening  of  the  Danes  the  stories  of 
enchantment  there  went  abroad  far  and  wide,  and  it  was 
a  place  to  shun  both  day  and  night,  and  no  one  was  re- 

[94] 


THE  ENCHANTING  Of  DOIRENN 


membering  the  young  monk  who,  in  that  year  of  the 
fearful  star  of  Turgesius,  had  climbed  that  hard  way  for 
holiness. 


UT  in  after  years,  a  strange  harmless  babbler  ap 
peared  one  day  among  a  herd  of  cattle  in  Thomond, 
shouting  to  them  of  heavenly  crowns  and  wings 
of  angels. 

He  had  no  clear  speech  to  men,  and  was  called  the 
"  Nameless  "  for  the  reason  that  no  clan  knew  him,  and  he 
knew  no  mortal  and  no  home. 

His  dress  was  of  skins,  and  his  hair  and  beard  were  his 
only  mantle  to  the  middle.  Neither  in  Gaelic  nor  in  Latin 
could  his  life  be  learned,  but  no  door  was  closed  on  him 
nor  food  denied  him,  for  gods  and  saints  were  known 
to  come  under  secret  and  lowly  guise  to  the  abodes  of 
men. 

And  on  a  fair  day,  after  seven  years,  Doire,  the  childling 
of  Ruadan,  divided  a  cake  with  the  Nameless  on  the  green, 
and  then  led  him,  as  a  child  with  a  new  playmate,  through 
all  the  garden  and  to  the  grianan  where  the  wife  of  Ruadan 
sat  with  her  maids  and  discoursed  of  the  day  when  the 
master  of  Ardsolais  would  come  again  from  the  wars. 

All  said,  "  God  save  you,  and  Mhoirre  bless  you,"  to  the 
visitor  from  the  wilderness,  and  food  was  given  and  the 
child  watched  in  wonder  that  a  mortal  could  feed  as  the 
hounds  fed. 

"  The  name  of  me  is  Doire,  son  of  Ruadan,  who  is  lord 
of  the  mountain,"  said  the  boy.  "  You  have  eaten  my  cake 
and  come  in  my  gate ;  tell  to  me  now  whose  son  are  you?  " 

[95] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 

Cffig) 

But  the  Nameless  stared  vacant  and  seeking,  and  made 
mutterings,  and  all  they  could  hear  from  him  was  "  Rua- 
dan  ?  Ruadan  —  Ruadan  ?  " 

Then  the  wife  of  Ruadan,  who  was  called  Brighde  the 
Beautiful,  called  to  her  son  Doire,  and  whispered  in  his 
ear  a  secret  saying,  and  the  lad  ran  back  and  spoke. 

"  May  it  be  that  you  were  once  the  son  of  Kineath?  And 
that  your  name  was  once  Geroid?" 

At  which  saying  the  Nameless  stood  up  in  fear  as  if 
for  flight,  and  cried  out,  "Kineath  — and  Geroid  — and 
Ruadan!  Ruadan  and  she  who  was  weighed  in  the 
balance  with  the  jeweled  chalice?  Call  you  your  druids, 
or  your  priests  of  wisdom,  that  I  uncover  the  place  of 
that  hiding!  Go  you  in  haste  ere  the  mist  again  covers 
the  knowing ! " 

In  haste  they  did  go  — all  the  maids  aflutter,  and  the 
wife  of  Ruadan  sat  in  the  shadow  ordering  all  things, 
speaking  no  word  aloud. 

And  Fergus,  her  cleric,  came  in  haste  from  the  oratory, 
and  made  prayer,  and  hearkened,  and  the  Nameless  spoke 
in  good  Latin,  and  said : 

"  Take  with  you  this  childling  who  lifted  the  mist  from 
me.  Go  you  to  the  cave  in  the  mountain  over  the  Lough 
of  Dearg;  to  the  ceU  of  Senan  the  Saint  find  you  the  way; 
and  in  the  stone  trough  of  the  bed  there  find  yeu  the  jew- 
eled  chalice,  and  the  golden  treasures.  They  were  the 
bribe  of  Hell  to  bring  temptings  of  the  world.  Let  them 
be  weighed ;  let  them  be  put  in  the  scales  against  my  name 
and  my  soul  in  the  Day  of  days!" 

"Against  whose  name  will  I  write  it  for  that  day? 
asked  Fergus,  "and  against  whose  soul?" 

But  at  the  question  the  Nameless  turned  away  and  shook 
his  head.  The  mist  had  again  fallen,  and  he  wandered 
again  to  the  fields  babbling  of  crowns  and  wings. 

[96] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


"He  is  but  a  strange  innocent,"  said  Fergus,  "and  has 
no  likeness  to  owners  of  golden  service  and  jeweled  treas 
ures.  It  would  be  as  search  for  the  many-colored  palaces 
of  the  magical  Danaans  under  the  hills  about  us." 

But  the  wife  of  Ruadan  had  a  different  thought. 

"What  the  search  may  uncover  rests  with  God  and 
Mhoirre,"  she  said.  "  But  a  sign  has  been  sent  to  the  son 
of  Ruadan,  and  to  him  the  honor  will  be  if  precious  things 
or  holy  things  are  in  that  cell  of  a  hermit.  Take  horses 
and  take  men,  and  take  Doire,  our  son,  to  that  place  of  the 
cliff  on  the  shore  of  Dearg,  and  take  well-cured  skins  and 
ink  for  the  record  and  witness.  Every  jewel  write  you 
down  as  count  is  made,  and  every  other  thing  of  treasure. 
If  it  be  that  they  are  holy  things  of  Senan  the  Saint,  their 
blessings  may  descend  upon  another  altar." 

Thus  it  was  done,  and  great  glory  went  to  the  son  of 
Ruadan,  who  uncovered  the  jeweled  chalice,  and  wondrous 
other  golden  altar  service  buried  under  moss,  and  shells  of 
eggs,  and  bones  of  animals. 


HEGENDS  grew  up  about  that  finding,  for  after  they 
were  blest  by  the  cleric  that  no  evil  thing  might 
leave  smirch  on  their  beauty,  they  were  placed  with 
prayer  in  the  oratory,  and  on  the  altar  beside  them  was 
found  in  the  morning  a  jeweled  book  of  holiness,  thick  set 
with  amber  and  pearl.     No  book  had  been  found  in  the 
stone  cell,  and  Fergus,  the  priest,  had  never  before  seen 
or  heard  of  it.    Many  viewed  it,  and  all  thought  it  had, 
without  doubt,  belonged  to  Senan  the  Saint,  and  after 
two  hundred  years  of  death  he  had  come  back  to  gather 

ivn 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRLNN 


together  the  things  once  precious  to  him  on  earth  as  a 
proof  to  pious  souls. 

This  was  the  thought  of  Fergus,  who  had  a  pride  in  the 
holy  honors  sent  to  the  roof  where  he  was  sheltered. 


BND  when  Ruadan  came  back  victorious  from  battle 
with  the  Danes,  it  was  Fergus  who  discoursed  to 
him  of  a  great  church  as  their  shrine.  He  made 
clear  that  the  wife  and  son  of  Ruadan  had  strange  gifts  and 
powers  of  knowledge.  If  they  were  Christian  gifts  it  was 
well  for  their  souls,  but  if  the  power  was  of  pagan  strength, 
then  fastings  and  prayers  should  lift  the  last  doubt.  He  re 
minded  Ruadan  that  his  own  peace  with  the  church  was 
not  yet  accomplished,  and  that  there  were  strange  tales  of 
how  the  mother  of  his  son  had  ridden  out  of  the  wilderness 
on  a  black  stallion  and  no  clan  and  no  country  had  been 
named  for  her  claiming.  The  trappings  of  her  steed  were 
those  of  a  king,  and  she  wore  coat  of  mail  like  a  young 
warrior  of  the  sea  gods,  riding  out  of  the  waves.  No  word 
to  her  confessor  told  of  her  life  before  that  day,  and  there 
were  times  when  the  soul  of  Fergus  was  troubled  over 
these  mysteries,  and  was  craving  more  altars  to  the  saints 
at  Ardsolais. 

"  That  is  well  enough,"  said  Ruadan.  "  She  shall  have  a 
temple  of  her  own  fashion  for  the  housing  of  her  sacred 
things  —  women  and  priests  have  hunger  for  such.  Guard 
you  the  souls  by  prayers  in  the  temple,  Fergus,  and  my 
spearman  will  guard  the  temple  if  our  shields  are  lucky. 
That  is  the  task  of  the  man." 

And  with   his   wife,  the   Beautiful,  in  her  bower,  he 

[98] 


THE  ENCHANTING  Of  DOIRENN 


laughed,  and  stroked  her  white  shoulder,  and  mocked  as 
was  his  wont. 

"  Thus  I  pay  for  temples  to  guard  your  soul  from  en 
chantments,"  he  said,  "  for  Fergus  the  priest  finds  you  in 
a  grievous  way." 


'HE  mounted  the  black  steed  and  rode  beside  Rua- 
dan  with  Doire,  their  son,  and  sought  a  fair  level 
on  a  green  height  where  huge  stone  slabs  stood 
upright  with  other  slabs  resting  on  them  like  high  altars.  It 
was  the  place  of  ancient  fires  and  for  that  was  called  the 
Hill  of  Lights. 

"  Here,  by  this  circle,  are  the  hearts  of  the  people,"  she 
said,  "  for  at  new  moon  they  are  coming,  and  at  the  rise  of 
sun  they  are  coming  in  certain  summer  days.  Why  build 
the  new  altar  in  another  place?  " 

She  paced  with  her  child  the  great  space  where  the  new 
temple  would  be  built  for  sinners,  and  the  eyes  of  Ruadan 
looked  their  love  on  her,  and  on  the  son  she  had  borne  Him. 


in  the  edge  of  the  wild  field  where  the  forest 
came  down  from  the  mountains,  the  cattle  lifted 
their  heads  as  a  man,  hairy  and  clad  in  skins,  strode 
among  them  with  proud  authority  shouting  to  them  of 
crowns  and  wings. 
"Whose  is  the  voice?"  asked  Ruadan. 

[99] 


THE  ENCHANTING  OF  DOIRENN 


And  his  "heart-companion"  of  the  wilderness  touched 
his  shoulder  and  spoke  low  and  awed. 

"That  is  the  voice  of  the  man  who  saw  no  holiness  in 
battle  to  protect  the  helpless  —  it  is  the  voice  of  the  man 
who  saw  in  love  only  the  mating  of  beasts  —  and  his 
reward  is  his." 


[100] 


LIADAN  ANDKURITH1R 


r 


I 


f=*r=f=l 


i 


LIADANANDKURITHIR 


"/  am  Lladan 
Who  loved  Kurithir, 
It  is  true  as  they  sajj. 

"77ie  music  of  the  forest 
Would  sing  to  me  when  with  Kurithir, 
Together  with  the  voice  of  the  purple  sea.1' 

T  was  the  time  of  Hugh  Finnliath,  Ard-Ri  (High 
King)  of  Erinn,  and  glad  youth  of  May  lay  on  the 
land. 

The  hawthorn  was  in  bloom  against  the  hills, 
and  the  cuckoo  was  calling  as  it  flew  in  long  billowy 
glides  to  its  mate  in  the  yew-tree  nest. 

As  the  bird  to  its  mate,  went  the  gray  eyes  and 
the  heart  of  Liadan  na  Donal,  when  she  looked  on  Kuri 
thir,  the  poet  and  friend  of  kings,  in  Far  Connaught.  Fair 
and  gracious  was  he  among  the  friends  of  her  host,  and 
fair  and  gracious  was  Flann  Siona,  prince  of  the  Sionan, 
beside  him  as  they  greeted  her,  and  greeted  Aevil,  her 
sister,  who  was  beautiful  as  a  night  of  stars. 

It  was  not  the  beauty  of  bronze-gold  hair,  or  blue  eyes 
of  Kurithir,  by  which  she  was  held,  and  it  was  not  the 
beauty  of  raiment  and  the  jeweled  links  of  his  garments, 
for  the  daughters  of  the  Ui  Maic  of  Far  Kerry  were  not 

[103] 


LIADAN  ANDKURITHIR 


without  grandeur  in  the  castle  of  Donal,  their  father.  Out 
of  all  the  guests  and  the  greetings,  she  knew  not  if 
Kurithir,  son  of  Doborchu,  bent  head  or  knee  more  gra 
ciously  than  others.  She  knew  only  that  his  eyes  looked 
deep,  and  looked  steady,  into  her  own,  and  that  without 
words  they  bore  to  her  a  message. 

The  message  was  strange  because  her  heart  leaped  in 
her  bosom  to  meet  it,  and  that  was  a  new  thing  in  her 
life. 

And  that  message  was  this :  "  We  have  found  the  way  to 
each  other  at  last,  and  both  of  us  knowing  it ! " 

Other  eyes  saw  that  look,  and  the  wild-rose  flush  on 
her  white  throat,  and  Aevil,  her  half-sister,  spoke  bitter 
words  when  they  were  safe  within  their  chamber,  and 
there  was  present  only  the  dark  nurse  of  Aevil,  whose 
name  was  Moria,  and  whose  lore  was  deep  in  herbs  and 
curious  knowledge  of  druidcraft. 

"Know  you  not  that  as  elder  sister  my  day  of  mar 
riage  must  pass  before  your  day  of  courting?  "  raged  Aevil. 
"  For  that  reason  I  am  making  this  circuit  of  visits  to  see 
the  lands  and  the  furnishings  of  our  friends.  It  was  in  my 
charity  that  I  brought  you  by  me,  and  an  ill  day  it  was 
to  me!" 


m 


KIADAN  sat  by  the  window  and  looked  down  into 
the  enclosed  garden  where  a  red  rose  tree  and  a 
white  rose  vine  were  twining  against  the  stone  wall, 
and  she  made  no  reply,  for  her  thoughts  were  all  of  Kuri 
thir,  and  that  look  in  his  eyes,  and  she  felt  close  to  him  as 
the  white  rose  twining  to  the  tree  of  the  red  bloom. 

[104] 


LIADAN  AN5KURITHIR 


But  Moria  talked  much  as  she  smoothed  the  black  hair 
of  Aevil,  and  vowed  by  the  Elements  that  the  beauty  of 
Aevil  exceeded  by  much  all  other  beauty  at  the  Dun  of 
Dearg.  And  that  the  eyes  of  Flann,  Ri  Domna  of  Erinn, 
had  not  passed  her  by  —  nor  had  the  other  men. 

There  was  truth  in  this,  for  black  and  red  and  rich 
cream  was  the  beauty  of  Aevil,  and  her  pride  was  great 
because  of  her  beauty  to  which  all  men  did  honor.  Liadan 
had  heard  all  her  life  that  there  was  no  beauty  in 
Connaught  to  compare  with  Aevil  who  should,  for 
beauty  alone,  be  a  queen,  and  Liadan  was  well  content 
that  the  crown  go  to  her  sister  so  long  as  she  had  her  harp 
and  her  garden,  and  now  —  two  blue  eyes  for  mirrors! 

But  Aevil  stormed  and  threw  off  the  hand  of  Moria  and 
would  have  no  caressing  of  words. 

"  Well  you  know  there  is  one  man  spoke  of  here  for  my 
meeting,  and  that  man  is  Kurithir  the  poet,"  she  said. 
"  He  is  the  man  whose  songs  are  sung  by  many,  and  my 
greeting  was  spoiled  by  a  gray  rat ! " 

"Only  my  eyes  are  gray,  sister,"  said  Liadan,  "and 
if  you  like  not  my  gray  robe,  it  shall  be  put  aside  for  our 
visit.  What  you  choose  shall  be  done ;  all  is  one  to  me." 

For  the  song  of  joy  was  so  strong  in  her  heart  that  all 
the  world  was  shining  summer  for  her.  Her  slender  gray- 
clad  feet  trod  as  on  the  clouds  of  heaven  because  of  that 
look  in  his  eyes.  She  donned  a  robe  of  green  with  a  girdle 
of  silver,  and  in  the  brown  curls  of  her  hair  she  fastened 
green  jewels  from  oversea,  and  in  the  rush  light  of  the 
great  hall  she  slipped  quiet  as  a  moonbeam,  but  Flann  and 
Kurithir,  who  were  foster  brothers  and  friends  ever,  left 
all  others  to  bow  before  her. 

"  We  look  for  Maighdenmara  in  the  old  sea  waves  where 
the  white  foam  is,"  said  Flann.  "  Men  never  hope  to  see 
her  drive  in  a  chariot  from  the  forest." 

£105] 


UADANANb  KURITHIR 


Kurithir  said  nothing,  but  his  eyes  were  on  hers,  and 
she  liked  that  best,  and  dreamed  of  him  sweetly  that  night 
on  her  maiden  pillow. 


IN  the  dawn  Flann  and  Kurithir  walked  along  the 
sea  cliff  and  spoke  as  brothers  in  bond. 

"  There  are  other  maids  and  many  for  you,  Flann. 
For  me  there  is  only  this  one  and  I  loving  her." 

"  You  speak  your  heart  and  that  is  best,  comrade.  My 
eyes  will  look  the  other  way,  and  her  sister  is  a  fair  queen 
for  any  castle." 

"  I  am  thinking  no  castles,"  said  Kurithir,  "  I  am  think 
ing  of  a  little  house  under  the  oaks  where  the  thrushes 
sing,  and  where  heart  can  hear  heart  away  from  sound 
of  the  steps  of  man.  My  harp  I  will  take,  and  hers.  The 
hands  of  her  were  like  white  lilies  on  the  strings  when  she 
touched  them  last  night.  I  could  have  knelt  at  her  feet 
for  joy  that  we  have  found  each  other." 

"It  is  good  to  be  you,  Kurithir,"  said  Flann,  who  was  a 
king's  son.  "  May  you  hear  the  thrushes  sing." 


BND  Kurithir  went  back  at  sunrise,  and  watched  her 
window  in  the  tower  until  her  face  looked  down  on 
him.     Speak  she  dare   not  because  of  Aevil  and 
Moria.    Go  to  him  she  could  not  for  the  locked  door  and 
the  key  on  the  chain  of  Moria.    But  look  at  him  with  all 

[106] 


UADANANpKURlTHlR 

her  heart  in  her  eyes  she  could  and  she  did,  and  a  white 
rose  she  let  fall  from  her  breast  to  his,  and  that  was  the 
first  gift  of  Liadan  and  Kurithir. 

That  day  was  fair  with  beauty,  and  all  went  riding 
gaily  to  a  neighbor  castle  of  friends,  and  gaily  home  at 
the  setting  of  sun ;  but  Aevil  put  Aillain,  the  son  of  her  host, 
to  ride  with  Liadan,  under  strict  word  that  their  visit  would 
end  if  he  heeded  not  her  order  —  for  Liadan  must  either 
be  guarded,  or  sent  home  at  the  dawn ;  so  Aevil  rode  with 
Kurithir  and  talked  much  with  Flann,  and  was  a  sweet 
and  gracious  lady  to  charm  all.  'But  Liadan  sat  quiet, 
smiling  ever  like  sun  touching  mist  of  the  morning.  Her 
heart  was  full  of  joy  only  to  hear  his  voice,  even  though 
the  words  were  to  another  —  which  is  Love  itself. 

And  that  night  was  a  very  poet's  night  of  a  young  moon 
and  the  scent  of  dew  on  the  hawthorn,  and  under  the 
tower  Kurithir  sang,  and  touched  the  harp,  and  this  was 
his  song: 

Sweet-scented  branch  of  silver 

Abloom  above  me, 

Lean  low  to  love  me! 

Gray  bird  of  harmonies 
Honey  voice,  morning  star, 
Wake  to  love's  dreaming! 

His  voice  and  the  strings  of  the  harp  were  whispers 
soft  on  the  night,  yet  in  her  heart  every  whisper  was  held, 
and  the  fury  of  Aevil  was  as  a  storm  seen  afar  in  the  val 
ley.  For  Liadan  was  as  snow  on  the  mountain  shining 
in  the  sun. 

When  she  left  the  locked  door  of  her  chamber,  the  dark 
woman,  Moria,  carried  her  shuttle  and  thread,  or  her 
tablet  of  white  birch  and  the  stylus,  or  the  tiny  harp  of 
the  six  strings,  but  not  apart  the  length  of  a  spear  did  she 
walk,  and  she  listening. 

[107] 


LI ADAN  AND  KURITHIR 


But  the  love  of  Kurithir  forced  him  to  the  speech  of  a 
man  to  his  mate,  and  he  spoke. 

"  The  song  of  the  night  was  to  you,  Liadan,  and  all  of 
me  calls  for  you  more  strongly  than  song  can  be  telling. 
Liadan,  marriage  is  well  for  two  singers  who  find  the  same 
song.  It  is  by  that  choosing  the  bird  of  the  forest  seeks 
ever  its  own  mate,  for  the  song  is  the  soul  of  the  winged 
things.  That  is  so  of  the  birds  and  it  is  so  of  men,  Liadan. 
Thus  the  nightingale  holds  his  song  pure  in  rapture,  thus 
the  children  of  us  will  sing  our  songs,  and  their  own  songs, 
in  the  future  years,  Liadan.*' 

The  soul  of  her  moved  to  him  that  she  trembled,  but  the 
dark  woman,  Moria,  behind  the  arras,  was  ears  for  Aevil 
who  walked  the  garden  with  Flann,  and  Liadan  veiled  her 
gray  eyes  lest  he  read  them  too  well,  and  spoke  in  sweet 
courtesy. 

"  Fair  friend,  it  must  be  in  the  rath  of  my  father  I  give 
troth  to  a  man  and  not  in  another  place,"  she  said.  "  That 
gate  will  be  open  to  you  on  a  day  to  come,  and  your  sing 
ing  will  win  you  fair  welcome  when  you  are  coming 
there." 

"Your  words  are  as  snowfall  at  harvest  time  and  the 
sheaves  golden,"  spoke  Kurithir.  "  Your  eyes  make  them 
selves  shadows  of  gray  and  are  veiling  their  sweetness. 
But  I  am  servant  of  Liadan  what  day  of  days  I  may  ride 
her  way  through  the  forests." 

"The  day  may  be  long  —  the  length  of  days  rests  in  the 
heart  itself,"  said  Liadan.  "A  far  circle  of  visiting  is 
pledged  to  the  friends  of  our  father.  That  circle  must  be 
closed  ere  we  welcome  poets  or  princes  at  the  portal  of 
our  own  castle." 

"  Honey  mouth,  the  sweet  coldness  of  you  would  freeze 
the  red  rose,  and  all  its  flame  could  not  save  life  to 
it,"  he  said.  "  But  within  me  is  a  deeper  flame,  and  I 

[108] 


LIADAN  AN5KURITHIR 


wait  my  day,  and  I  wait  some  sign  from  you  for  speech 
again." 

But  the  bodkin  of  the  dark  woman  touched  the  arm  of 
Liadan  through  the  arras  as  a  warning  against  other 
words,  and  she  spoke  no  more  but  bent  her  head  over  the 
harp  as  if  alone,  and  Kurithir  looked  at  her,  pondering, 
and  then  called  for  his  stallion,  and  rode  alone  and  apart 
from  the  rest  that  day. 

But  Liadan  rode  not  at  all  lest  the  hand  of  another  man 
touch  her  hand,  or  the  hem  of  her  garment,  or  offer  her 
cup  which  another  than  Kurithir  had  kissed. 

But  the  harp  of  his  in  the  hall  was  the  only  one  she 
touched  that  day,  and  she  wished  that  forbidden  druid 
power  could  be  hers  to  charm  the  strings  into  speech  for 
his  ear  alone.  With  bodkin  she  traced  one  word  in  ogham 
on  the  harp  frame,  but  Moria  watching !  More  she  feared 
to  do,  and  her  tablets  of  writing  had  been  broken  in  the 
rage  of  Aevil. 

The  dark  woman  told  to  Aevil  all  that  discourse  of  the 
day,  and  Aevil  laughed  her  victory. 

"  Tomorrow's  sun  takes  us  away  from  this  place  and  this 
blind-eyed  poet,"  she  said.  "I  have  a  secret  to  tell,  for 
Flann  has  desire  of  me,  and  a  king's  rath  will  yet  be  my 
abiding  place.  But  I  choose  to  be  away  from  the  roof 
of  my  father  ere  these  poet  songs  again  make  night  sleep 
less.  My  marriage  comes  before  her  betrothal.  See  you 
to  that!" 

The  dark  woman  promised  and  praised  the  maid  Aevil, 
and  had  joy  of  the  thought  of  Flann  who  was  king's  son 
and  of  power  to  be. 

At  the  supper  time,  Aevil  held  up  her  square  cup  of  mead 
and  asked  a  good  wish  on  the  road  for  the  morrow.  Her 
journey  of  joy  was  a  circle,  and  their  chariot  must  start 
with  the  sun  on  the  round. 

[109] 


LIADAN  AND  KURITHIR 


There  were  words  of  pleading  from  many,  but  Kurithir 
said  no  word,  only  stared  at  Liadan  for  a  sign  —  and  she 
there  frozen  with  the  grief  on  her! 

It  was  the  first  word  she  was  given  of  the  journey,  but 
he  could  not  be  knowing  that,  and  his  pride  was  a  cloak 
as  he  stood  before  her. 

"  Sun-rise  or  sun-setting  makes  no  change  in  me  but  to 
leave  me  in  darkness,"  he  said,  "  and  the  servant  of  Liadan 
is  ever  her  servant." 

But  Aevil  laughed  at  his  shoulder,  and  bade  him  not 
practice  poet's  art  for  the  sake  of  practice,  for  Liadan 
knew  the  light  worth  of  a  rhyme  —  and  herself  turned 
all  things,  from  cock  crow  until  moonrise,  to  such  usage! 

Then  she  sent  Liadan  to  her  chamber  on  an  empty 
errand,  and  laughed  again  at  Kurithir,  and  watched  him, 
and  his  face  white. 

She  knew  that  he  felt  hate  for  her,  and  would  sing  grief 
and  disaster  on  her  but  for  the  bond  of  one  father  and  sis 
terhood  with  Liadan.  The  dark  woman  plucked  her  by 
the  sleeve  and  whispered  warning  lest  he  do  that  thing 
and  shame  her  before  Flann  and  the  host.  Aevil  was 
green-jealous  and  was  going  far! 

But  the  laughter  of  her  scarce  touched  him,  for  the 
reason  that  he  saw  only  the  face  of  Liadan  who  had  gone 
past  him,  dumb  and  without  word  of  courtesy,  and  she 
hard  struck  at  the  fear  of  great  forest  and  wilderness 
between  them. 

It  was  that  fear  made  her  bold  to  dare  what  she  dared 
not  do  before  the  people.  No  tablet  of  writing  could  she 
send.  No  secret  friend  could  she  trust  in  the  castle  of  the 
Dun  of  Dearg  where  Aevil  bore  casket  of  gifts  for  service 
rendered. 

But  more  quickly  than  Moria  could  follow,  she  sped  to 
the  enclosed  garden  where  the  red  May  rose  bloomed 

[110] 


LIADANAN5KURITHIR 


against  the  south  side  of  the  wall,  and  close  under  her 
linen  shift  lay  a  blossom  of  it  before  the  dark  woman, 
with  dark  words,  grasped  her  wrist,  and  drew  her  within 
the  portal. 

"The  fury  of  Donal  your  father  will  not  be  a  summer 
storm  to  you  if  he  hears  of  lovers  of  yours  before  the 
Lady  Aevil  has  her  right  as  a  wife  ahead  of  you,"  she 
said.  "The  visits  of  honor  are  spoiled  by  the  endless 
twanging  of  the  fool's  harp,  and  of  yours,  and  the  end  of 
it  is  coming!" 

Liadan  knew  there  were  dark  words  said  of  Moria  in 
whispers  by  the  people  of  the  hills  of  Kerry.  Her  love 
for  Aevil  was  a  real  love,  but  her  hate  was  a  thing  to  fear, 
and  the  soul  of  Liadan  trembled,  yet  the  thought  of 
Kurithir  brought  back  life  to  her,  and  she  spoke. 

"With  your  hands  you  will  not  touch  mie  again,"  she 
said,  "and  this  to  your  warning.  As  a  child  I  mind  me 
how,  for  curious  reasons,  you  sang  sleeps  upon  me  at 
noontide.  I  saw  strange  things  in  the  sleeps  you  sent  me 
and  some  I  remember.  But  I  am  not  now  a  child  and  my 
life  is  a  different  thing  to  me.  No  will  of  yours  shall  be 
on  me  again,  nor  the  will  of  any  other  mortal,  save  one 
only  —  and  I  loving  that  one.  My  duty  to  Donal,  my 
father,  and  Aevil,  my  sister,  will  be  paid  in  silence.  But 
to  the  man  who  gives  me  heart-love  there  has  been  too 
much  of  silence,  and  the  end  of  that  is  coming ! " 

The  dark  woman  looked  at  her  sideways  and  said  no 
word  lest  the  maid  grow  wild  and  run  shrieking,  or  do 
some  other  ill  thing  to  shame  them.  For  the  words  of 
Liadan  told  her  it  was  a  woman  deep  in  love  who  spoke, 
and  that  at  once  both  her  body  and  mind  were  sacred  to 
her  as  love's  offering  on  an  altar. 

And  Moria  went  from  the  chamber  in  fear  of  the  wrath 
of  Aevil  if  the  lovers  met,  and  in  fear  of  other  things !  The 

[111] 


LIADAN  AN5KURITH1R 


key  on  the  chain  was  forgot  at  her  girdle,  and  it  was  the 
first  time. 

At  the  foot  of  the  turret  stairs  she  remembered  the  key 
and  would  have  turned  back,  but  Aevil  was  there  and 
heard  her  story  and  smiled. 

"  Wait  for  the  locking  of  the  door,"  she  said,  and  frowned 
and  thought.  "  Since  she  is  turned  rebel  on  our  hands,  and 
a  dagger  is  forbid,  we  will  try  other  ways,  and  ways  will 
be  found.  Her  poet  is  sick  with  love  and  mooning  alone, 
yet  far  enough  from  the  turret.  Keep  you  ward,  and  send 
to  me  Aillain,  son  of  our  host.  He  mutters  poems  of  hers 
instead  of  grace." 


XT  was  true  Kurithir  was  alone,  and  a  new  thought 
with  him  for  company.  The  next  house  of  the  visit 
of  the  sisters  was  that  of  a  friend  where  a  welcome 
for  him  was  ever  waiting.  Yet  at  this  time  he  would  not 
ride  there  without  a  castle  servant  to  ask  his  presence.  But 
on  white  beech  tablet  he  was  writing  that  friend  to  send 
for  him  quickly,  and  his  own  servant  was  put  on  the  road 
with  it,  while  the  others  played  chess,  and  took  pawns,  and 
looked  love  to  women,  and  Aevil  laughed,  thinking  that 
he  wrote  poems  on  dull  tablets  when  he  could  find  more 
human  pleasures.  Flann  laughed  when  she  laughed,  and 
knew  nothing  of  the  heartache  of  his  friend.  After  their 
words  on  the  cliff  there  had  been  no  more  words  between 
them  of  Liadan  or  of  Aevil. 

Their  laughter  sat  ill  upon  him,  and  he  moved  to  a  case 
ment  where  he  could  see  the  window  of  the  turret 
chamber,  and  perhaps  a  light  there. 

[112] 


LIADAN  AN5KURITHTR 

No  light  was  showing,  but  the  soft  note  of  the  little  harp 
was  heard,  and  its  sweetness  was  dear  to  him,  for  it  was 
his  own  song  of  the  night  she  had  caught. 

"It  is  well  Liadan  is  playing  that,"  said  Aevil.  "All 
the  day  she  was  making  practice  of  it  because  you,  Aillain, 
gave  it  praise." 

"  I  ?  "  said  the  youth  Aillain,  and  stared,  and  his  mother 
heard  and  laughed. 

"What  does  a  manling  do  when  music  is  made  by 
fair  lady  to  his  liking?"  she  asked.  "A  gold-caged 
thrush  would  be  fitting  for  a  lady's  gift,  or  flowers  for 
fragrance." 

They  made  jests  of  him  as  at  a  lover  they  were  training 
for  love,  and  the  eyes  of  the  youth  laughed  also,  yet  he 
was  courteous. 

"  No  less  than  my  duty,  and  the  gift,  shall  be  offered," 
he  said.  "  The  less  garden  bloom  for  the  other  ladies  on 
the  morrow." 

Straightway  he  started  for  the  garden  in  the  dusk,  glad 
to  show  grace  to  so  fair  a  guest.  The  sky  had  primrose 
tints  in  it  afar,  and  the  golden  curve  of  the  moon  was  above 
dark  ocean.  Only  one  star  shone  high,  and  shadows  fell 
thick  where  the  hedges  were,  and  where  a  great  vine  threw 
wide  arms  at  the  foot  of  the  tower. 

A  moment  the  boy  paused  to  look  up  where  the  harp 
strings  were  softly  touched,  then  there  was  silence,  and  a 
white  hand  reached  far  out,  and  a  bit  of  fragrance  touched 
his  breast  —  it  was  a  red  rose,  crushed  where  it  had  lain 
under  the  linen  of  her  warm  bosom. 

The  youth  was  mazed  and  stood  waiting  with  staring 
eyes.  Was  it  a  mocking  the  gay  group  would  make 
because  of  his  lack  of  years,  and  his  height  of  a  man? 
This  was  the  reasonable  thought,  for  he  had  a  sweetly 
gay  temper  of  his  own,  and  was  used  to  their  baiting. 

CU31 


LIADAN  ANDKURITHIR 


But  while  he  held  the  rose  and  listened  for  their  laugh 
ter,  something  finer  came  to  him :  it  was  the  hushed  voice 
of  Liadan  singing.  A  very  whisper  of  a  song  it  was,  and 
heard  only  by  him,  and  by  a  man  at  the  casement. 

The  mystic  rose  are  you  to  me 
In  secret  bower  growing, 
The  grayling  bird  of  grief  am  I 
Not  joyous  taking  wing  ! 

One  star  for  both  above  the  sea— 
The  trysting  star!    A  grayling 
Lets  fall  a  rose  and  breathes  her  sigh: 
Not  joyous  taking  wing  ! 

The  voice  ceased  and  the  harp  strings  gave  a  wail  as  a 
heavy  hand  of  discord  crashed  it.  The  boy  could  make 
nothing  of  that,  and  walked  slowly  into  the  dusk  of  the 
garden,  intent  as  before  on  the  gift  of  blossoms. 

It  was  a  sweet  song  as  she  sung  it,  and  a  pleading  one. 
He  wondered  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  mystic  rose.  It 
was  a  new  word  to  him  and  he  had  an  ear  for  words  of 
beauty. 

Then  there  came  swiftly  the  rush  of  a  slender  form  into 
the  garden's  dusk.  Like  a  low-flying  bird  before  a  hawk 
she  ran,  for  the  dark  woman  was  at  the  portal. 

"  O  rose  of  flame,"  said  Liadan  sobbing,  "  that  I  should 
have  given  snow  for  your  fragrance!" 

The  tall  youth,  Aillain,  had  plucked  a  hand  full  of  bloom, 
but  stared  at  her  strangeness,  and  drew  back  from  her. 

"The  roses  are  for  your  gift,  fair  Liadan,"  he  began 
courteously,  but  at  his  voice  she  moaned  in  terror  and 
caught  his  shoulder. 

"O  rose  of  brief  bloom  for  me,"  she  said,  and  fell  in 
whiteness  at  his  feet.  He  bent  to  lift  her,  but  the  dark 
woman  was  first. 

[114] 


LIADAN  AND  KURITHIR 

"  Silence  is  best  for  this,"  she  said  to  Aillain.  "  It  is  no 
new  thing  and  I  can  bear  her  alone." 

She  was  very  strong,  and  Liadan  lay  in  her  arms  like 
a  broken  flower,  and  thus  she  faced  Kurithir  at  the 
portal ;  he  was  white  as  the  maid,  as  he  barred  her  way. 

"  Tell  me  of  this  meaning,"  he  said,  and  Moria  laughed 
as  Aevil  herself  might  have  laughed. 

"You  are  a  man  and  should  know,"  she  said.  "The 
boy  is  a  new  plaything  and  she  broke  the  lock  to  keep 
tryst  with  him.  You  poets  play  over  much  at  the  love 
game,  and  oft  choose  your  mates  strangely." 

"  If  you  were  a  man  my  hand  would  send  you  to  hell 
for  that  saying." 

"Even  that  would  not  make  her  over,  or  change  the 
heart  of  her,"  said  Moria.  "  Give  way  that  I  may  put  her 
back  under  lock  ere  her  sister  learns  this  newest  shame." 

He  gave  way,  and  paced  like  a  chained  thing  the  length 
of  his  leash  under  the  wall  where  he  could  see  the  light  of 
her  window.  He  listened  for  her  voice,  but  no  sound  came. 

Later  he  sought  Aillain,  but  the  youth  had  gone  straight 
to  Aevil  in  his  amaze  and  fear,  and  she  had  cunningly 
bound  him  to  silence,  as  if  Liadan  were  some  distraught 
creature  ever  to  be  guarded  when  the  moon  was  new.  To 
Flann,  Kurithir  could  not  speak. 


IN  the  morning  Liadan  was  dressed  by  Moria  for  the 
journey,  listless  and  cold,  staring. 

Aevil  mocked  her  despair,  and  hummed  the  words 
of  her  trysting  song. 

"  Think  you  a  man  of  pride  waits  for  tryst  with  a  maid 

£115] 


LIADAN  AN5KURITHIR 


so  bold?  "  she  asked.  "  The  rose  alone  might  have  won  a 
hearing,  but  men  are  fain  to  do  their  own  wooing. 
Your  song  argued  practice  in  love,  so  he  walked  away, 
O  grayling,  you!" 

Liadan  took  up  the  harp  and  broke  the  strings. 
"  It  will  make  songs  for  no  other  man,"  she  said.    "  So 
much  for  love's  practice  on  me ! " 

Cold  and  white  she  sat  for  the  braiding  of  the  gold  disks 
in  her  brown  hair,  and  cold  and  white  for  the  girdling  of 
the  gray  robe,  and  the  lacings  of  the  gray  shoes.  After 
the  breaking  of  the  harp  Aevil  mocked  no  more,  for  there 
were  guests  and  a  host  to  face  in  the  farewells,  and  it 
might  prove  a  hard  hour. 

But  Liadan  strangely  bade  farewells  as  a  child  is  taught 
to  do.  There  was  a  faint  little  smile  on  her  lips,  and  she 
looked  into  faces  as  if  scarce  seeing,  while  the  dark  woman 
watched  her  curiously. 

"  Her  boast  was  that  no  will  but  his  should  lead  her,"  she 
said  to  Aevil.  "  Look  you !  Whose  will  leads  her  now?  " 

"What  thing  have  you  done?"  asked  Aevil,  "for  his  is 
the  one  face  she  does  not  lift  her  eyes  for.  What  druid's 
draught  have  you  brewed  for  her?  " 

"  No  draught,"  said  Moria.  "  She  gave  you  fear  when 
she  broke  the  harp,  and  that  was  the  time  to  give  her  the 
quiet.  Look  not  fearful,  a  weakness  is  on  her  from  these 
days,  but  weakness  goes  again  in  youth." 

Liadan  was  seldom  gay,  and  none  but  Kurithir  and 
Flann  noted  her  stillness.  Neither  spoke  of  it.  And  so  she 
went  away  from  them.  And  the  music  was  stilled  in 
Kurithir.  His  harp  was  laced  in  its  cover  of  otter's  skin, 
and  the  message  she  had  writ  on  it  was  hidden  — to  their 
sorrow ! 

When  word  came  from  the  friendly  house  that  he  was 
ever  welcome  there,  but  that  the  Lady  Aevil,  and  her 

[116] 


LIADAN  ANDKURITHIR 


sister,  the  poet  Liadan,  had  not  come  their  road,  he  bade 
farewell  to  his  friend  Flann  and  took  a  boat  for  the  sea. 

"  The  thrushes  do  not  sing,  even  for  poets,  on  the  sea," 
said  Flann,  and  that  was  the  first  time  he  mentioned  the 
dream  of  love  of  Kurithir. 

"There  are  no  longer  thrushes  singing  for  me  in  the 
shadows,  and  no  dreamhouse  of  love  in  any  forest,"  said 
Kurithir. 


'TRAIGHT  south  he  steered  and  then  east,  through 
storm  and  stress  seeking  new  ports,  seeing  new  faces, 
hearing  new  songs  but  singing  no  more.  Women 
looked  on  him  with  warm  invitings  in  many  a  harbor,  and 
one  of  sweet  words  and  gray  eyes  sent  him  out  into  open 
seas  against  wind  and  tide. 

"  Other  men  are  not  remembering  like  this,"  he  said. 
"  Back  of  the  look  in  every  woman  I  see  the  look  of 
Liadan,  O  lost  gray  bird  of  mine  —  Liadan  —  Liadan ! " 

To  say  her  name  brought  her  before  him  strangely.  He 
leaned  forward  in  the  dusk  and  brushed  his  hand  over  his 
eyes  as  if  to  clear  vision. 

For  there  in  the  prow  he  saw  —  something !  It  was  the 
faint  gray  shadow  of  a  girl  with  a  broken  harp.  The 
harp  he  could  see  very  clearly,  for  the  broken  strings  were 
black  against  the  green-white  foam. 

"  Liadan,"  he  whispered,  and  moved  to  her,  but  white 
spray  dashed  between  them  and  no  other  thing  was  there. 
And  that  was  the  first  time  she  came. 

"  She  is  dead,"  he  said,  and  the  world  was  more  empty 
for  the  thought,  yet  strangely  enough,  when  sleep  came 

[1171 


she  began  to  come  very  close  to  him,  and  very  warm  and 
very  much  alive. 

In  the  dusk  of  starlight  he  saw  her,  shadowy,  with  his 
earthly  eyes  again  and  again,  and  at  times  he  thought  the 
fragrance  of  hawthorn  and  roses  of  May  was  on  the  sea. 

"Is  it  the  way  of  a  madman  I  am  going?"  he  asked 
himself,  "  for  there  can  no  more  be  fragrance  of  roses  here 
than  there  can  be  songs  of  thrushes." 

And  that  night  in  sleep  he  heard  the  thrushes!  It  was 
together  they  heard  them  —  her  hand  in  his,  and  she 
listening. 

And  the  words  he  said  to  her  there  were  words  he  had 
never  said  to  any  woman  in  life.  Her  eyes  shone  on  him 
like  warm  stars,  and  it  was  as  if  they  had  both  been  wait 
ing  always  for  the  words  and  the  hearing  of  them.  And  in 
the  dream  he  sang  to  her,  and  she  within  his  arms  warm 
there.  In  the  morning  he  remembered  that  song  —  and 
he  remembered  whispers  of  hers  between  the  lines  of  it. 

O  Liadan! 

O  mist  of  honey  fragrance! 

Within  my  dreams, 

You  drift  the  night  with  me! 

You  arc  the  star 

Old  sea  reflects  forever, 

You  are  the  grianan  within  my  heart. 

The  white-breast  bird  are  you, 

The  whitest  rose, 

The  ever-singing  harp  of  silver  string. 

You  are  my  secret, 
Breast  unto  my  breast, 
Until  the  lark  shall  call  the  sun, 
O  Liadan! 

It  was  the  first  time  song  had  come  to  him  since  he  sang 
under  her  window  at  Dun  Dearg  of  the  sea  cliff,  and  all  the 

[118] 


UADAN  ANPKURITHIR 


call  of  his  heart  for  her  was  wakened  in  new  strength.  He 
turned  the  boat  and  steered  west  and  then  north,  and  every 
twilight  she  sat  in  the  prow  faintly  gray,  and  in  every 
sleep  his  head  rested  on  her  warm  bosom,  and  warm  arms 
were  holding  him,  and  her  face  was  bending  over  him  with 
her  eyes  looking  into  the  depths  of  his  own. 

"  Even  though  it  be  madness  on  me  I  will  follow  the  way 
it  leads,"  he  said.  "  I  will  go  as  bid  to  the  rath  of  Donal, 
her  father.  I  will  put  out  of  mind  all  else  I  saw  or  heard, 
for  mystical  things  and  deep  things  are  sending  fair  winds 
to  me  at  every  turn  of  tide,  and  never  a  day  but  the  seas 
are  glittering  fair  like  silver." 

And  it  was  so.  Never  a  storm  touched  him  after  the 
night  he  saw  her  first. 


n 


In  the  nights  he  smelled  hawthorn  and  May  roses  over 
the  dark  sea,  and  there  was  one  night  when  he  was  off 
Arran,  and  she  sang  to  him,  and  in  the  morning  he  remem 
bered  her  song  as  well  as  his  —  and  this  is  what  she  was 
singing  that  night: 

I  dreamed  of  the  yew  tree, 
Its  sheltering  shadow, 
I  dreamed  of  your  arms! 

I  woke  to  the  thrushes, 
Their  song  was  to  nestlings, 
And  your  arms  about  me! 

Then  he  felt  her  stir  as  a  bird  might  stir  against  a 
mother-bird's  breast,  and  her  kiss  was  on  him,  and  in  that 

[119] 


LIADAN  ANDKURITHIR 


kiss  he  smiled,  fearing  to  open  his  eyes,  fearing  to  lose  the 
dream  of  her.    But  he  whispered  in  a  dream  song: 

My  eyes  are  in  shadow 
But  sun  in  my  bosom, 
My  world  —  Liadan! 

To  dream  true  is  —  loving, 
Gray  eyes  of  enchantings, 
Gray  lark  of  sweet  singing, 
—  Your  music  to  me! 

Into  the  deep  harbor  of  the  cliffs  he  sailed  on  a  fair  morn 
ing,  and  men  with  shields  and  spears  watched  him  as  he 
climbed  the  heights,  and  Flann  was  first  with  the  greeting. 

"  The  summer  raiders  of  Lochlan  came  down  the  coast 
to  wreck  and  plunder,"  he  said.  "No  roof  is  left  of  Castle 
Dearg;  we  drove  them  off  and  sunk  half  their  fleet,  but 
much  evil  was  done  by  them.  Our  host  and  his  people 
are  dead,  and  Donal  of  Dun  Conchinn  is  dead,  and  many 
other  good  men  have  gone  the  Way." 

"  It  was  to  the  rath  of  Donal  I  was  going." 

"  It  is  a  late  day  to  be  going;  death  has  been  there,  and 
veiled  women  are  there." 

The  heart  of  Kurithir  went  cold  with  fear  to  ask  a  ques 
tion,  and  he  did  not  ask  it,  but  walked  silent  beside  his 
friend  until  they  stood  under  the  portal  of  the  tower  where 
all  now  was  blackened  ruin  from  fire  and  stress. 

He  looked  up  to  the  window  and  then  mounted  the  stone 
steps  to  the  chamber  where  once  she  had  slept,  and  Flann 
in  silence  followed,  for  their  hearts  had  been  close-knit. 

The  furnishings  were  gone  and  it  was  a  desolate  place. 

"  Come  away,"  said  Flann.  "  There  is  no  profit  to  a  man 
in  seeking  empty  cages  when  the  singer  has  flown." 

But  under  the  carved  stone  seat  by  the  window,  where 
no  fire  could  touch  it,  there  was  a  little  harp  with  the 

[120] 


JJADANANDKURITHIR 


strings  broken.  Kurithir  knew  that  harp  and  every 
broken  strand  from  the  nights  on  the  seas  to  the  south. 

Flann  took  it  up  and  looked  at  the  frame  where 
"  Liadan  "  was  set  in  silver  wires  deep  in  the  dark  wood ; 
with  the  haft  of  his  skean  he  scratched  it  until  it  shone 
bright. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  it  was  a  woman's  lie 
to  mock  me  —  but  it  is  true." 

"Who  was  the  woman?"  asked  Kurithir. 

"  It  was  Aevil,"  said  Flann,  "  and  now  with  this  before 
us,  and  Sun  and  Day,  and  Earth  and  Wind,  to  witness,  I 
will  speak  you  the  truth.  When  you  sailed  south  and  gave 
no  farewell  to  Liadan,  who  turned  her  eyes  from  you 
in  parting,  I  rode  to  the  rath  of  Donal  and  made  offers 
for  her  as  a  wife.  My  promise  to  look  another  way  was 
broke  when  you  two  parted  and  no  pledge  between 
broke." 


HERE  was  silence  for  a  while  and  only  the  eyes  of 
Kurithir  spoke. 

"  It  was  all  no  use,"  said  Flann.  "  She  would  not 
say  the  word  for  all  Donal's  anger.  I  know  not  what  his 
words  were  to  her  —  God  knows !  He  was  regretful  for  the 
words  when  dying  and  said  it  to  me.  But  before  that  day 
he  offered  me  Aevil  instead,  and  ordered  Liadan  to  the 
veiled  women,  and  Aevil  was  a  star  of  beauty,  and  was 
willing,  and  I  took  her." 

"And  what  was  the  lie  of  this?"  asked  Kurithir,  hold 
ing  close  the  harp  with  the  sweet  name  of  her  on  the 
frame. 

[121] 


L1ADAN  ANDKURITHIR 


"  It  was  no  lie.  It  was  the  truth.  The  harp  was  broke 
by  Liadan  that  no  love  song  should  ever  be  made  on  it 
after  her  tryst  song  to  you  —  and  you  walking  away 
from  it." 

"There  was  no  tryst  song  to  me.  The  woman  Moria 
carried  Liadan  from  tryst  with  another  —  and  mocked  me 
that  I  was  yet  sick  at  heart  for  her  love." 

"There  are  dark  things  in  this  somewhere,  and  there 
are  false  things  somewhere,"  said  Flann.     "Aillain,  the 
boy,  is  dead,  and  dark  Moria  is  dead  —  it  is  late  for  the 
sifting  of  the  wheat  from  the  chaff." 
"When  were  the  deaths?" 

"He  in  the  first  raid,  but  she,  sabbath  a  week  since, 
together  with  Donal,  before  our  bowmen  reached  his  rath 
for  succor." 

Kurithir  remembered  that  day,  and  when  Flann  would 
have  gone  on  with  speech  of  the  fighting,  and  the  retreat 
of  the  raiders  to  their  ships,  he  held  up  his  hand  for 
silence. 

"  That  was  the  night  she  came  to  me  on  the  sea,  Flann," 
he  said,  "  and  that  is  why  I  am  here  listening.  Darkness 
is  on  my  mind  — a  darkness  and  a  fog,  but  this  is  true  as 
the  Sun:  the  way  of  these  broken  strings  was  never  told 
to  me,  yet  I  knew  that  her  harp  was  broken,  for  at  the 
sabbath  twilight  a  week  since,  Liadan  sat  at  the  prow  of 
the  boat  with  the  broken  harp  in  her  hands,  and  the  smell 
of  the  hawthorn  was  there  following,  ay,  and  the  song  of 
the  thrush  in  the  nights ! " 

Flann  peered  at  Kurithir  in  awe,  and  a  swift  chill 
touched  him.  When  he  spoke  again  it  was  with  the  soft 
gentleness  as  to  a  child. 

"And  where  was  this  happening,  Kurithir?"  he  asked. 

"It  was  off  the  south  coast,  and  I  have  been  sailing 

straight  to  find  her,  night  and  day  since  that  twilight," 

[122] 


jJADANANDKURlfm^ 

said  Kurithir.  "Never  was  there  such  a  sailing,  for  the 
wind  was  ever  with  us,  and  I  had  but  to  close  my  eyes  to 
feel  her  near  and  to  smell  hawthorn  and  May  roses." 

Flann  looked  down  into  the  garden  where  ashes  and  a 
fallen  wall  covered  the  rose  vines. 

"The  roses  of  May  linger  not  for  anyone  through  the 
harvest  time,"  he  said.  "  Come  Kurithir,  what  I  can  I  will 
do  to  bring  you  to  her  in  time." 

Kurithir  followed  after  and  carried  the  broken  harp,  and 
said  over  to  himself  words  of  her  tryst  song  which  he  knew 
now  was  meant  only  for  him. 

"  It  will  be  in  time,"  he  said.  "  No  human  thing  can  part 
us  now,  for  our  coming  together  on  the  sea  had  no  mortal 
touch  to  it,  yet  we  were  as  one  soul.  Since  she  lives 
nothing  can  change  that.  She  is  the  soul  of  me." 

"She  lives,"  said  Flann. 

More  than  that  he  had  no  heart  to  say,  but  while  food, 
and  horse,  and  servant  were  made  ready  for  the  journey 
through  the  wilderness,  Flann  spoke  apart  to  Ronan,  his 
cleric  and  confessor,  who  had  been  with  the  men  through 
the  battles,  and  shrived  them  as  they  went  the  last  Way. 

"  Is  it  madness  of  the  mind  is  on  him,  or  is  it  some  spell 
of  magic  that  makes  for  him  a  vision  far  out  at  sea  of  that 
which  is  true  on  land?"  asked  Flann.  "Is  it  evil,  or  is  it 
good?" 

"  It  has  been  both.  The  words  of  druids  and  the  words 
of  saints  are  witness.  It  comes  between  a  man  and  a  maid. 
It  comes  not  of  earthly  marriage  but  rather  of  separation 
of  the  mortal  body.  It  comes  of  great  strength  and  of 
much  weakness.  Saints  have  known  it  to  the  glory  of 
God's  mysteries,  but  it  is  not  for  the  telling  to  every  asker 
of  curious  things.  You  have  a  kinsman  in  sanctuary  who 
has  the  right  to  tell  you  more  than  I  have  right  to  know. 
The  craft  of  idolatry,  and  the  spells  of  druids,  and  power 

[123] 


LIADAN  AND  KURITHIR 


of  saints,  have  one  likeness  to  the  eyes  of  the  unlearned. 
Yet  is  there  a  difference,  and  a  great  differing,  too!  The 
mother  of  Liadan  was  of  the  race  of  Dana,  and  she  went 
the  Way  at  the  birthing.  Her  child  came  into  life  with 
the  sign  on  her  of  secret  knowings.  It  is  a  thing  of  grief 
that  she  was  bred  in  the  rath  of  that  dark  woman  of 
Slieve  Mis  who  could  use  arts  of  her  own  on  a  child  of 
secret  vision." 

"You  mean  dark  Moria,  the  nurse?" 

"  I  mean  Moria,  the  concubine  of  Donal,  who  went  into 
death  beside  him.  It  is  an  old  story  and  strange.  The  Dun 
of  Donal  is  far  enough  in  the  wilderness  to  hide  many 
secret  things." 

"You  know  that  I  have  taken  his  daughter  Aevil  to 
wife,"  said  Flann  darkly. 

"I  do.  You  were  swift  about  it,  else  I  might  have 
spoke  caution.  But  the  two  are  dead  and  God  send  that 
her  evil  died  with  her,  and  that  your  children  live  by  God's 
grace.  Judge  you  not  Kurithir  with  harshness  because  of 
his  own  words.  The  darkness  is  on  his  mind  concerning 
this  matter.  Few  of  us  see  as  God  means  us  all  to  see  in 
His  own  good  time." 

"  God  be  with  us  till  the  Day,"  said  Flann. 

"By  the  Elements,  and  the  Father  and  Son,"  said 
Ronan. 


raiders  were  gone  from  Connaught  and  the  work 
of  the  chiefs  was  done  there,  and  Flann  rode  south 
and  told  Kurithir  he  rode  to  fetch  back  his  new  wife 
Aevil,  from  Dun  Conchinn,  where  death  had  been,  and 
many  shadows.  And  Kurithir  scarce  noted  that  Flann  rode 

[124] 


LIADANANPKURITHIR 

neither  in  state  nor  in  joy.  He  rode  silent  and  with  dark 
thoughts,  and  with  few  servants  or  comfort. 

But  he  saw  to  it  that  none  but  himself  held  converse 
with  his  friend  on  the  long  south  journey.  And  Kurithir 
went  through  the  rivers  and  wilderness  as  he  had  sailed 
north  over  the  sea,  thrilled  by  the  nearness  of  the  sweet 
warm  spirit  of  her. 


<S"TTXT  was  at  rising  of  sun  they  reached  the  Dun  of  Con- 

1.  chinn,  and  saw  marks  of  the  siege  on  it,  and  it  was 
Aevil  who  met  them  in  the  hall,  vested  in  royal 
weaves  and  with  a  golden  circlet  of  richness  above  the 
black  braids  where  pearls  were  woven.  Already  she  was 
wearing  all  gauds  and  trappings  of  queenship,  and  waiting 
jealously  the  day  of  the  succession  of  Flann. 

She  stared  in  dislike  at  his  company. 

"  Have  you  fallen  to  meaner  estate  that  you  ride  home 
with  none  of  the  chiefs  you  led  away?"  she  asked.  "A 
servant  and  a  horseman  is  small  retinue  for  Flann." 

"  Greet  my  friend  and  send  for  your  cleric,"  said  Flann. 
"I  have  questions  to  ask  of  this  household." 

"I  give  greeting  to  any  friend  of  yours,  O  Flann,"  she 
said,  "but  your  words  and  your  looks  coming  back  with 
him  are  not  those  of  Flann,  the  prince,  who  went  away 
with  his  many  men  of  the  shields." 

"  If  it  is  your  will  I  will  walk  apart  until  granted  wel 
come,"  said  Kurithir  to  Flann.  "It  is  you  who  know 
best  the  desire  of  my  heart  and  the  way  to  it." 

"We  will  find  that  way,"  said  Flann,  "but  the  first 
thing  must  come  first!  Send  your  maids  to  their  duties. 

[125] 


UADAN  AND  KURITHIR 


I  want  only  your  cleric,  and  his  tablets  for  writing.  It  is 
your  own  desires  I  make  plans  for.  You  will  not  be  wanting 
the  enviers  of  a  princess  around  you  this  day  of  your  days." 

Kurithir  was  no  less  amazed  than  Aevil  at  the  curious 
speech  of  Flann,  or  at  his  long  curious  stare  at  the  cleric 
with  his  tablets  and  his  scrivener. 

"  Send  your  assistant  out  of  the  hall,"  said  Flann,  and 
went  on  staring,  first  at  the  comfortable,  round  old  man,  and 
then  at  the  queenly  woman  he  had  called  a  star  of  beauty. 

"Nealis  of  Desmond,"  he  said,  "it  is  a  long  time  you 
have  been  in  the  Dun  of  Donal,  and  it  is  much  you  have 
seen  of  the  woman  who  died  with  Donal,  and  it  may  be 
much  you  had  to  know  of  her." 

Nealis,  the  cleric,  went  the  color  of  old  wax,  and  looked 
at  Aevil,  and  Aevil  flamed  red  while  her  brows  were  a 
straight  black  line  of  rage. 

"What  should  he  know?"  she  asked.  "What  should 
he  know  of  my  nurse  and  my  friend?  Why  ask  a  man  of 
the  household  and  pass  me  by?" 

"I  asked  for  an  answer  —  and  I  am  answered,"  said 
Flann.  "  Fear  not  that  you  will  be  the  one  passed  by !  I 
will  ask  another  question.  Nealis,  it  is  not  the  husband 
of  Aevil  who  asks  you  this,  it  is  the  man  who  is  Ri  Domna 
of  Erinn.  Donal  talked  with  you  here  when  I  offered 
marriage  to  his  child,  Liadan?" 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  cleric,  but  his  small  eyes  looked 
right  and  left  like  a  trapped  rat,  fearing  what  the  ques 
tion  might  lead  to. 

"  And  it  was  that  time  the  word  went  out  that  Liadan 
was  dying  of  a  secret  ailment?" 

Kurithir  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  Flann  put  out  his  hand 
in  kindness. 

"  She  did  not  die,"  he  said.  "  It  was  a  crooked  plan  but 
of  her  death  there  was  no  need,  and  the  plan  was  changed." 

[126] 


LIADANANDKURITHIR 


He  looked  at  Aevil,  and  the  flame  was  gone  from  her 
face;  she  was  gulping  as  if  to  strangle  back  some  fury  of 
protest. 

"You  were  her  confessor  —  also  the  confessor  of  Moria. 
You  surely  heard  things  curious  between  the  two." 

"What  should  he  hear  more  curious  than  other  priests 
hear?*'  demanded  Aevil  after  one  look  at  his  pallid  face. 

"  It  is  not  your  confession,  Aevil,  for  which  I  ask/'  said 
Flann,  "  so  rest  you  easy.  But  it  may  be  easier  for  Nealis 
to  tell  the  thing  here  where  there  are  few  ears  than  in 
open  shame  before  the  king  and  before  his  spiritual 
superiors.  Nealis,  was  it  drug  of  herbs  Moria  of  the  hills 
gave  to  Liadan,  or  was  it  the  deeper  craft  of  a  mind  chained 
until  life  and  death  was  all  one  to  her?" 

"  You  are  asking  that  which  is  not  asked  even  by  princes, 
and  I  would  it  were  not  asked,"  said  Nealis.  But  his 
voice  shook  and  Aevil  glared  at  him  frowning,  striving 
to  make  him  meet  her  eye,  which  he  would  not. 

"  The  witch  is  dead,"  continued  Flann.  "  I  ask  nothing 
concerning  sins  of  the  living,  but  this  thing  I  mean  to 
know.  It  is  not  best  to  depend  on  the  grace  of  a  Ri 
Domna's  wife.  There  will  be  no  queen  of  mine  but  by 
my  will  —  and  justice  may  come  before  my  will,  and 
before  I  come  to  a  king's  seat." 

"  Is  that  gray  rat  to  come  between  you  and  me  even  with 
your  marriage  gifts  on  me?"  shrilled  Aevil.  "The  High 
King  may  say  something  if  you  take  two  sisters  to  wife 
at  the  same  time." 

"The  sisterhood  will  come  later,"  said  Flann  in  great 
quietness,  and  at  that  Aevil  choked,  and  the  cleric  looked 
at  Flann. 

"  It  is  little  use  to  speak,  since  knowledge  has  somehow 
come  your  way,"  he  said.  "  I  know  of  no  drugs,  but  the 
Lady  Liadan  lived  as  in  a  trance  when  I  was  let  see  her. 

[127] 


LIADANANDKURITHIR 


I  was  told  it  was  a  love  sickness  and  that  life  was  hateful. 
To  me  she  said  nothing  but  that  she  was  a  shamed  maid, 
and  that  the  man  had  sailed  on  the  seas,  and  away  from 
her." 

"  She  sees  no  man  but  you.  Is  she  growing  more  weak 
as  the  days  go?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  cleric  with  the  first  straight  look,  "  she 
has  slept  well,  and  smiles  now  —  and  her  maids  no  longer 
fear  for  her." 

"When  did  this  begin?" 

"  It  is  strange  to  tell  it,  but  the  day  of  the  battle  with 
the  Northmen  was  the  day  she  changed.  A  swoon  came 
on  her,  when  the  woman  Moria  died,  but  when  she  waked 
from  it  the  trance  look  was  gone.  No  fear  of  the  battle 
touched  her,  so  the  women  say.  She  is  pale  as  a  primrose, 
but  she  smiles  again,  and  the  maids  now  gossip  that  she 
sings  in  her  sleep." 

"  You  tell  more  than  you  know,  and  you  tell  it  straight," 
said  Flann.  "  She  had  lived  under  the  black  shadow  of 
Moria  of  Slieve  Mis  until  the  life  was  smothered  by  that 
curse.  When  Moria  died  the  shadow  passed.  Do  you  see, 
Kurithir?" 

"  I  see  and  I  know,"  said  Kurithir.  "  She  was  seeking 
me  that  first  day  of  freedom,  and  found  me  at  the 
nightfall." 

Aevil  looked  her  scorn  for  the  words  she  did  not 
understand,  and  her  look  was  black  at  Nealis  of  Des 
mond. 

"  There  is  one  other  thing,"  said  Flann.  "  The  mother  of 
Liadan  was  known,  and  her  race  was  known  since  Erinn 
had  a  name  to  it.  But  who  was  the  first  wife  of  Donal  of 
Dun  Conchinn?" 

Aevil  arose,  trembling  with  rage,  and  her  eyes  glaring 
down  at  him. 

[128] 


LIADAN  AN5KURITHIR 


"Keep  to  your  seat,"  he  said  in  the  voice  of  a  master. 
"  I  am  to  know  these  things  and  the  reasons  for  them.  A 
lady  out  of  Spain  was  brought  to  these  shores  a  bride  in 
his  youth,  all  are  knowing  that.  But  where  is  there  some 
man  or  some  woman  to  tell  me  when  she  died,  and  what 
of  her  children?" 

There  was  silence  and  the  breathing  of  Aevil  could  be 
heard  as  she  leaned  forward,  her  eyes  on  the  cleric,  and 
her  hand  slipping  into  the  folds  of  her  robe. 

"I  —  I  was  not  here  at  that  time,"  he  said,  stammering. 

"But  you  have  seen  records,  you  know?" 

"It  — is  true.    I—" 

No  more  than  that  was  said  when  Aevil  leaped  forward 
with  a  slender  Spanish  dagger  crashing  for  his  throat,  but 
Flann  was  quick,  and  caught  her  arm.  She  struggled  and 
fought,  but  he  shook  her  as  he  would  a  rat  and  flung  her 
to  the  floor,  where  she  lay  senseless. 

"  The  dagger  is  a  dainty  toy  and  useful,"  he  said.  "  It 
was  perhaps  for  me  she  carried  it."  Then  he  turned  to  the 
wounded  and  trembling  man,  "Go  on,  tell  it  as  you 
meant  to." 

"  She  knows,"  he  said,  looking  down  on  Aevil  in  her  rich 
robes  and  braided  pearls.  "  The  Spanish  wife  died,  and 
died  soon,  without  children.  Moria  was  then  what  she 
always  has  been,  full  of  one  thought  only,  and  that  for  her 
daughter  here.  Donal  himself  had  fear  of  her,  and  made 
promises  to  her  and  kept  them. 

"  But  when  men  looked  on  Liadan  they  did  not  forget 
her.  She  came  before  Aevil,  despite  the  beauty  of  Aevil, 
and  of  that  the  troubles  began,  and  many  of  them.  It  was 
jealousy  first,  and  after  that  there  is  no  knowing  what  it 
was,  but  it  has  brought  terror,  and  it  has  brought  grief 
to  this  roof." 

"  Write  this  as  you  have  told  it,"  said  Flann,  "  and  call 

[129] 


UADAN  AND  KURITHIR 


the  maids  to  look  after  the  daughter  of  Moria.  See  that  a 
guard  is  at  her  chamber  door,  and  no  more  toys  like  this  to 
play  with." 

Then  he  turned  to  his  friend. 

"  There  will  be  no  shadow  between  you  ever  again,"  he 
said.  "  You  have  been  shown  all  the  reasons." 

"There  can  be  no  more  shadows,"  said  Kurithir,  and 
thought  he  spoke  truly.  He  followed  Flann  through  the 
hall,  and  to  the  grianan  on  the  south  wall;  from  there  a 
troop  of  horsemen  were  seen  lounging  in  the  shadow,  and 
four  more  with  furnishings  for  women  riders. 

"  It  looks  a  holiday  for  gay  gallants,"  said  Kurithir,  but 
Flann  had  no  smile;  he  strode  to  the  door  and  threw  it 
open. 

The  grianan  was  no  longer  the  lightsome  ladies'  chamber 
for  broideries  or  games  or  music.  An  altar  was  there, 
and  candles  lit,  and  four  nuns  knelt  where  a  priest  recited 
a  prayer,  and  their  voices  responded. 

One  voice  out  of  the  others  pierced  the  heart  of  Kuri 
thir,  and  he  broke  from  his  friend  and  called  out  in  love, 
but  the  priest  stepped  between,  and  the  eldest  nun  threw 
a  gray  veil  over  the  primrose  face  he  knew. 

"Liadan!"  he  cried. 

"Kurithir!" 

She  drew  the  veil  aside,  and  the  two  lovers  looked  long 
at  each  other.  But  even  with  love  in  her  eyes  she  put  out 
her  hand. 

"  It  is  for  life,  Kurithir,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  come  for  you ! " 

"  Flann,  my  brother,  tell  him !  "  she  said. 

"  I  knew  of  this,"  said  Flann,  "  but  had  hope  to  outride 
the  ending  of  it.  This  is  why  Aevil  met  us  in  queenly 
circlet  and  royal  robes  at  sunrise  to  flaunt  before  Liadan 
a  final  magnificence." 

[130] 


LIADAN  ANDKURlfmR 

"  We  are  here  to  guard  a  new  sister  on  the  way  to  sanc 
tuary  of  Clonfert,"  said  the  priest.  "From  this  day  she 
has  no  life  in  the  world.  Men  are  her  brothers,  women 
her  sisters.  There  are  no  other  human  bonds  for  her." 

"  But  there  are  bonds  not  human,  yet  between  two  mor 
tals,"  said  Kurithir.  "  I  have  gone  through  hell  to  learn  that 
truly,  and  have  sailed  far  over  deep  seas  to  bring  the  word 
to  her." 

"It  cannot  be  said  here,"  said  the  priest.  "You  are 
doing  sacrilege  in  your  speech.  You  disturb  the  spirit  of 
her  on  her  path  to  Paradise.  You  to  your  confessor  for 
penance,  and  abide  by  his  ruling!" 

"Penance  will  I  welcome  for  her  sake,"  said  Kurithir, 
"and  some  brotherhood  will  I  find  to  give  right  of  con 
verse  with  this,  my  friend.  For  that  I  will  wear  the  robe 
and  go  into  silence  forever  after." 

Her  eyes  were  on  his  as  she  passed  out  the  portal 
between  the  two  nuns,  and  the  look  in  her  eyes  was  the  look 
of  the  nights  on  the  sea.  Yet  there  was  question  in  that 
look,  and  a  wistful  question. 

Flann  bade  them  farewell  in  the  stead  of  Aevil,  and 
watched  them  cross  the  plain  into  the  forest. 

"The  evil  magic  of  Moria  lives  on,  even  though  her 
body  is  dead,"  he  said.  "  It  was  she  put  into  the  head  of 
Donal  this  business  of  sanctuary  —  and  Aevil  helped  as 
she  might,  until  this  is  the  end." 

Kurithir  was  silent,  thrilled  by  that  look,  and  dazed 
with  the  temptings  to  follow  after,  to  take  her  and  reach 
the  sea  and  some  land  of  foreign  men,  even  though  all 
the  bells  of  Erinn  rang  their  curses  on  him. 

"  Did  you  mean  that  as  to  wearing  the  robe  of  a  brother 
hood?"  asked  Flann. 

"  I  would  do  more  for  one  day  of  converse  out  of  life 
with  her,"  said  Kurithir. 

[131] 


LIADAN  AN&KURITHIR 


That  night  he  abode  with  Flann,  and  when  the  late  stars 
were  going  into  the  west,  she  came  as  on  the  sea  and 
crept  between  his  arms,  and  lay  silent  there. 

No  songs  were  between  them  that  night  and  no  words. 
She  rested  like  a  tired  bird  after  long  wanderings,  and  in 
the  morning  he  told  Flann  of  how  it  was  between  them. 

"  She  will  walk  free  in  a  walled  garden,"  he  said.  "  Peace 
she  has  and  no  fear,  and  in  the  Dun  of  Conchinn  she  had 
many  and  strange  fears,  and  of  them  she  would  speak  to 
me,  and  not  in  dreams." 

"I  am  believing  your  word,"  said  Flann.  "No  other 
man  could,  but  I  saw  the  look.  In  all  of  life  I  will  see 
nothing  again  like  that.  My  feet  are  on  the  earth,  and  my 
cares  are  of  earthly  things." 


RUNNER  from  the  castle  of  the  kings  came  to 
Flann  at  the  breaking  of  fast,  and  he  opened  the 
seals  of  the  tablet,  and  read,  and  took  Nealis  the 
cleric,  and  went  to  the  chamber  of  Aevil. 

"  Daughter  of  Moria,"  he  said,  "  the  dower  of  a  daughter 
of  Donal  shall  be  your  portion.  It  goes  with  you  for  gifts 
to  whichever  holy  home  of  cloistered  women  you  may 
choose  from  out  all  Erinn." 

She  crested  her  head  like  a  dark  serpent,  and  her  eyes 
were  points  of  jet  with  jeweled  disks  on  the  band  above 
them. 

44  My  Spanish  blade  is  not  in  my  holding  else  there 
would  be  another  man  than  you  in  line  for  the  crown  of 
Hugh,"  she  said.  "You  would  wall  me  from  the  world 
that  the  grayling  rhymer  come  to  you  at  last.  Late  it  is 

£132] 


for  that  —  and  she  under  veil !  All  bells  of  church  in  Erinn 
would  ring  to  damn  you." 

"Liadan  is  not  in  this,  nor  can  be,"  he  said.  "You  go 
to  a  cloister  for  a  dagger  stroke  to  a  churchman,  with 
thought  to  silence  his  speech  in  death.  You  could  be 
killed  like  a  wolf  for  that,  and  no  one  to  make  further  ques 
tion.  But  Liadan  wears  the  veil  to  pray  for  sinners,  and 
she  would  not  have  wish  that  you  die  in  such  sin  as  you 
have  known.  You  go  also  into  cloister  lest  you  bring  to 
birth  a  thing  of  poison  such  as  your  mother  bred.  You  are 
of  the  women  who  know  lusts,  but  not  love,  and  such 
should  not  be  breeding." 

"What  then  of  the  love  of  that  grayling?"  she  asked  in 
mock.  "  What  is  the  thing  it  breeds  in  men? " 

"Its  breeding  will  last  while  speech  of  Erinn  lasts  — 
and  after!  Liadan's  is  the  mystical  soul.  Aengus  of  the 
white  birds  is  the  priest  to  hear  her  confessings.  His  is 
the  key  to  unlock  gates  for  Liadan  where  your  feet  and 
my  feet  may  not  walk." 

Then  while  she  brooded  there  Flann  turned  to  Nealis 
the  cleric. 

"To  you  the  records  of  this,"  he  said,  "and  let  me 
not  hear  even  the  name  of  cloister  she  is  choosing.  It 
is  the  daughter  of  Moria  who  enters  that  silence,  and  is 
not  the  wife  of  Flann.  See  you  to  that  —  and  your  life 
and  her  life  to  answer  if  there  is  mis-writing  in  this  rule 
of  mine!" 

Aevil,  glooming,  took  her  last  throw  of  the  dice  of 
fate. 

"  To  the  ears  of  Hugh  the  king  this  may  go  on  a  day  to 
be,"  she  said,  "  and  he  may  make  other  ruling  against  an 
heir  of  his." 

"  The  king  of  Erinn  has  no  heir,"  said  Flann,  "  and  when 
the  time  comes,  it  is  a  clean  woman  he  will  be  choos- 

[133] 


LIADAN  AND  KURITHIR 


ing  for  the  mother  of  heirs.  That  is  a  riddle  for  your 
reading." 

But  she  read  it  quickly  and  stood  up,  and  cried  aloud. 

"He  is  dead  then  —  dead  at  last!  And  you  are  the 
king!" 

"  Since  the  sun  of  yesterday  went  down,  I  am  king," 
said  Flann.  "  I  go  now  for  the  seat  of  the  king,  and  the 
taking  of  the  white  rod." 


a  EVIL,  daughter  of  the  dark  woman,  took  from  her 
hair  the  gold  circlet  she  was  pleased  of  her  pride  to 
wear,  and  trampled  it  under  foot  in  her  rage  at  the 
thing  she  had  coveted  and  had  lost.  She  knew  no  record 
would  be  writ  into  the  annals  of  Flann  to  show  that  when 
he  was  only  a  prince,  and  had  gay  journeys  for  his  pleas 
ure,  he  had  ever  taken  to  wife  a"  daughter  of  Donal  of 
Slieve  Mis. 

But  of  Kurithir  there  were  records,  for  there  was  grief 
on  Erinn  when  he  put  aside  the  music  of  the  world  and 
took  a  monk's  robe  for  the  cover  of  his  youth. 

And  the  day  of  days  came  to  him  when  he  earned 
indulgence  of  his  confessor,  Cummine,  son  of  Fiancha,  to 
talk  apart  in  the  walled  garden,  and  the  converse  to  be  of 
things  spiritual  with  a  noble  woman,  and  a  youth  between 
them  as  was  custom  with  mortals  in  sanctuary. 

And  there  Liadan  came  to  him,  and  his  hands  touched 
hers  after  the  long  days. 

" O  Heart  of  me,"  she  said,  "twice  have  I  made  earthly 
tryst  with  Kurithir,  and  this  time  he  is  keeping  it!" 

"And  the  May  roses  in  bloom,  and  the  thrush  again 

[134] 


LIADANANb  KURITHIR 


singing/'  he  said.  "Speak  again,  speak,  Liadan!  It  is 
long  we  have  whispered  in  the  nights  apart,  and  now  you 
are  in  my  touch,  and  I  would  hear  your  living  voice, 
Liadan." 

"Kurithir,  Kurithir,  Kurithir!"  she  said.  "There  has 
been  no  music  like  your  name  written  in  my  heart." 

"  Your  harp  is  with  me.  I  mended  the  strings,  and  the 
wind  plays  on  them  in  the  nights  in  my  window,  Liadan." 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "and  I  wrote  'love*  in  ogham  on 
the  frame  of  your  harp,  and  you  only  found  it  there  when 
you  came  back  from  the  sea." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  said,  "  and  you  knowing  it !  You  are 
in  the  likeness  of  a  flower,  Liadan,  yet  are  you  strong  as 
mortals  are  not  strong,  and  you  found  strong  ways  to  come 
to  me  over  ocean." 

"  I  was  dying  that  time,  Kurithir,  and  the  death  shadow 
was  on  me  for  the  shame  that  you  thought  my  tryst  song 
of  evil  boldness.  The  dark  woman  had  sent  me  in  sleeps 
to  vision  for  her  the  unseen  things,  and  when  her  bonds 
on  me  were  loosed,  your  bonds  drew  me,  and  I  found 
the  way  to  you.  You  were  the  stronger  then,  Kurithir." 

"Liadan!     Liadan!    We  have  only  this  day." 

"Kurithir,  we  have  all  the  days  forever,  Kurithir!" 

The  sun  went  behind  the  world,  and  the  birds  called  to 
each  their  vesper  song,  and  the  moon  of  May  grew  warm 
through  the  dusk,  and  the  youth  walked  in  the  shadows 
while  Liadan  lay  in  the  arms  of  Kurithir.  ,Their  litanies 
of  love  were  murmured  there,  and  ever  the  wonder  that 
their  souls  had  found  the  way  of  meeting. 

"  You  were  the  mystic  rose,  O  Kurithir.  The  fragrance 
led  me  through  the  deep  to  you." 

"  Oh,  sweetest  bloom !  There  was  no  fragrance  on  the 
sea  till  you  were  bringing  it." 

"You  heard  the  music,  too,  O  Kurithir?" 

[135] 


LIADANAN&  KURITHIR 


"  With  my  lips  on  your  rose-leaf  body  I  was  hearing  it 
all  the  nights.    You  brought  it  there." 

"  It  was  like  this  —  the  clasp  thrill  x>f  your  hand." 
"  It  was  like  this  —  the  yearning  of  my  mouth." 
"Sweet  dream— -O  Kurithir!" 
"It  was  like  this  — O  Liadan!" 


moon  went  down,  and  the  stars  of  dawn  broke  on 
the  world,  and  a  veiled  woman  who  had  once 
dreamed  of  Erinn's  crown  stood  watching  two 
sleeping  lovers  in  the  convent  garden.  A  youth  crept  from 
the  shadows  at  sound  of  her  step,  and  lifted  the  discarded 
veil  of  Liadan. 

He  spoke,  and  the  lovers  wakened  and  smiled  at  the 
waking,  and  at  the  dear  closeness  of  the  other,  but  Liadan 
cowered  in  the  arms  of  Kurithir  at  glimpse  of  the  mocking 
eyes  of  the  watching  woman. 

"Is  it  even  to  a  cloistered  garden  that  Aengus,  god  of 
Youth  Dreams,  brings  you  the  key  for  soul  mysteries, 
O  Liadan  of  Kurithir?"  she  asked. 

"The  Liadan  of  Kurithir  is  a  new  name  to  me  and  a 
proud  one,  sister.  Shadow  there  may  be  on  it,  but  no 
shame." 

"  By  the  Elements,  you  dare  it  well,  grayling,  and  well 
your  lover!  It  may  be  the  prior  and  the  abbess  can  give 
vouchings  for  you." 

Cummine  came  to  them  there  at  the  bidding  of 
Aevil,  and  shouted  holy  wrath  at  sight  of  the  veil  of 
Liadan. 

"  It  was  not  told  me  that  a  veiled  woman  was  the  friend 

[136] 


LIADAN  ANpKURlTHIR 

he  would  converse  with  in  this  sanctuary,"  he  said.  "  This 
is  a  shame  beyond  words  to  both  our  houses  —  and  beyond 
penance." 

"  I  could  kill  you  here,  Liadan,  before  their  hands  touch 
your  sweet  body,  Liadan,"  whispered  her  lover.  But  she 
shook  her  head  and  took  her  veil  from  the  youth. 

"In  that  way  we  might  lose  each  other  in  some  dread 
darkness,  Kurithir,"  she  said.  "But  now  we  will  never 
lose  each  other.  Give  me  sweet  farewell,  O  Kurithir." 

"Liadan  — O  Liadan!" 

"Kurithir!" 

They  bound  him  there  and  took  him  away  for  slow  tor- 
turings  and  penance  in  a  stone  cell  of  the  "  Solitary  Ones  " 
on  whom  silence  is  put  forever. 

They  stripped  her  in  shame  that  she  might  walk  in  only 
her  winding-sheet  of  the  grave,  and  that  walk  was  nightly, 
and  her  slender  bare  feet  on  the  rough  stones  to  the  place 
of  tombs.  Before  all  the  line  of  cloistered  women  she 
walked  thus  until  the  stones  of  the  way  were  red  from 
her  bleeding  feet. 

After  that  they  took  her  to  a  stone  cell  at  the  edge  of 
the  forest  where  holy  women  might  not  soil  their  eyes  on 
her.  Only  her  confessor  and  a  poor  lay  sister  came  to  her 
window  there.  She  was  under  penance  of  silence,  and 
writing-tablets  were  hers  for  speech. 

She  wrote  prayers  on  the  tablets,  and  she  wrote  con 
fessions.  There  were  times  when  she  wrote  poems. 

The  years  left  no  trace  of  age  on  her — she  was  ever  the 
primrose  face  of  May.  Marvels  grew  up  around  her 
because  of  that  —  and  because  of  other  mysteries. 

At  a  time  when  the  Danish  raiders  were  stealing  up  the 
Sionan  to  the  heart  of  the  land,  Kurithir  wrote  the  number 
of  their  vessels  and  the  number  of  their  shields  ere  they 
had  fared  as  far  as  Killaloe  from  the  sea.  When  ques- 

[137] 


LIADAN  AN&KURITHIR 


tioned,  and  told  to  speak,  he  asked  that  Flann,  king  of 
Erinn,  be  sent  a  warning  and  gather  shields,  for  Liadan, 
of  the  cell  in  the  forest,  had  seen  them  coming,  and  asked 
him  in  the  night  to  send  word  to  Flann  the  king. 

When  the  men  of  Flann  took  the  battle  path  and  proved 
the  truth  of  it  by  a  battle  with  the  foreigners,  and  brought 
back  slaves  and  many  spears,  Flann  himself  rode  to  Clon- 
fert  and  talked  with  the  abbot  there,  and  silence  was  lifted 
from  Liadan  and  from  Kurithir. 

The  son  of  a  dead  prince  of  Tormond  was  being  disci 
plined  at  that  time  for  the  reason  that  he  wished  to  revoke 
the  gift  of  his  life  to  the  cloisters.  The  gift  had  been  made 
by  his  kindred  when  he  was  a  child,  and  was  not  binding 
on  his  soul.  He  had  been  with  the  spearmen  for  the 
defense  against  the  Danes,  and  there  was  a  wound  in  his 
shoulder,  and  he  talked  as  prince  to  prince  with  King 
Flann. 

"  Since  my  days  of  a  child  I  have  lived  this  life,  and  the 
schools  of  it  delight  me,"  he  said.  "I  have  joy  in  the 
work  of  the  annals  and  their  making.  I  may  come  back  in 
gladness  to  cloisters  when  the  snow  is  on  my  hair,  but  they 
call  me  '  God's  Dastard '  for  the  reason  that  I  would  walk 
free  into  the  world  in  my  youth  to  win  what  youth  may 
win." 

"It  was  not  always  so  with  him,"  said  his  confessor 
darkly.  "There  was  a  time  indeed  when  he  was  quite 
content." 

"Yes,  when  I  was  a  child,"  said  the  soldier-monk,  but 
his  face  went  white  and  he  looked  elsewhere. 

"  Come,  tell  me  of  it,"  said  Flann,  and  walked  away  with 
him. 

"You  are  a  man  and  not  a  monk,  Flann,  and  I  can 
speak.  I  was  a  child  here  —  it  is  not  so  long  ago.  I  saw 
the  love-night  of  Liadan  and  Kurithir." 

[138] 


LlADANANDKURlTrllR 


Flann  looked  at  him  and  the  tears  were  thick  in  his 
eyes  for  the  penance  done  for  that  one  night  of  a  May 
moon. 

"  Then  you  saw  that  which  was  holy,  for  there  was  no 
evil  ever  in  the  soul  of  Liadan,"  he  said.  "  You  will  come 
to  my  castle  and  make  books  as  you  will,  or  range  free 
where  you  will.  I  heard  of  the  hard  penance  given  to  that 
lad  to  force  his  speech  of  that  night." 

"  The  scourgings  were  given,  and  were  heavy,"  said  the 
youth,  "but  the  speech  they  did  not  get." 

Flann  took  the  youth  away  with  him  and  later  placed 
him  back  at  the  head  of  the  province  where  his  jealous 
kindred  were  dividing  his  goods  and  his  lands. 

So,  by  this  and  by  that,  Flann  left  trace  of  the  heart- 
faith  he  gave  to  Liadan,  and  to  his  friend  who  had  the  love 
of  her. 

He  lived  as  a  king  lives,  and  took  to  wife  Maelmara,  the 
queen  of  Hugh  Finnlaith,  who  had  no  knowings  of  druid 
power  or  of  jealous  loves,  and  children  grew  around  them 
to  strengthen  their  bond. 

But  when  the  Night  of  nights  was  come  to  Liadan  and 
Kurithir,  and  their  souls  met  at  last  tryst,  and  did  not 
come  again  to  either  body,  it  was  Flann  the  king  who  did 
them  honor.  It  was  by  his  will  that  the  building  of  their 
tomb  was  at  the  cell  of  Liadan  in  the  edge  of  the  forest 
where  the  thrushes  sang. 

It  was  also  Flann  the  king  who  had  their  poems  of  love 
writ  on  fine  vellum,  and  set  in  a  golden,  gem-crested  cas 
ket,  that  the  memory  of  Liadan  might  live. 

But  in  the  wreckage  made  by  wars  and  plunderings  of 
the  men  of  Lochland  the  treasure  books  and  annals  of 
beauty  were  wrested  from  many  a  castle  and  monastery, 
and  stripped  of  their  cases  of  silver,  and  pale  gold,  and 
copper  into  which  jewels  were  craftily  set.  Among  such 

[139] 


LIADAN  ANDKURITHIR 


plunder  of  priceless  worth  fell  the  royal  gifts  of  Flann 
the  king,  whose  memorial  slab  at  Cluain-mac-noise  is  a 
wonder  of  beauty  after  the  passing  of  a  thousand  years. 
And  of  the  veiled  poet-maid  whose  soul  he  saw  rightly, 
there  has  come  down  through  the  centuries  only  fragments 
of  her  love  lines,  and  among  them  her  wistful  unashamed 
confession : 

*'/  am  Liadan 
Who  loved  Kurithir, 
It  is  true  as  they  sap." 


[140] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR 


iiardi  of  SX1  lattba 


Eleventh  Century. 


J 


DERVAILNANCIAR 

(Dervail  of  the  Shadow) 

RDAN,  the  fosterling  of  Donough  O'Car- 
roll,  King  of  Orielle,  watched  with 
longing  the  carving  of  the  stone  as  leaf, 
and  bud,  and  traceries  grew  under  the 
precious  tools  of  Brother  Cormac  for  the 
new  temple  to  God  and  Mary. 

"To  me  the  doing  of  that  work  would 
be  dearer  than  to  wear  robe  and  circlet  of  the  king,"  he 
said. 

"  The  cowl  of  a  monk  to  you  if  cold  stone  contents  your 
youth,"  said  Cormac.  "  Hard  and  cold  it  is.  The  crown  of 
a  king  means  warm  robes,  and  warm  cherishing  on  snowy 
nights,  and  —  and  all  the  other  comforts  a  king  can  com 
mand.  Go  you  to  your  verse-making  and  folly.  Your 
head  is  o'er  soft  if  you  would  trade  a  king's  crown  for  a 
mason's  tool  —  and  neither  crown  nor  trowel  yours  for  the 
trading ! " 

"  But  to  dream  beauty  and  then  form  it  out  of  the  stone 
—  that  is  to  be  as  one  of  the  Daome  sidhe'  (Gods  of  the 
earth). 

"  You  will  burn  in  hell  if  you  believe  in  the  pagan  an 
cient  gods ;  not  even  must  their  names  be  said.  To  make 
speech  of  them  calls  them  near." 

Then  Cormac  crossed  himself,  and  muttered  a  bit  of  the 
lorica  of  Phadraig  the  Saint,  and  looked  at  the  lad  whose 

[143] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR 


face  had  a  pale  dark  beauty,  and  whose  gray  eyes  looked 
black  under  heavy  lashes. 

"Take  clay  and  make  your  dreams,"  said  Cormac  at 
last.  "  If  well  mixed  the  mud  will  take  all  shapes.  What 
are  we  all  but  the  dust  of  the  earth?" 

"  It  is  not  in  mud  I  see  dreams,"  said  Ardan,  "  but  you 
give  me  a  thought,  O  Cormac!" 


white  snow  of  the  past  night  lay,  rose-tinted, 
under  the  path  of  the  early  sun,  and,  singing  low 
to  himself,  Ardan  began  to  gather  the  whiteness  on 
a  great  slab  of  gray  stone  near  the  south  wall. 

"  It  will  not  be  mud  of  which  I  build  my  dreams,  good 
Cormac." 

The  monk  watched  him  idly  for  a  while,  and  then  tossed 
to  him  a  trowel  from  among  the  tools  of  the  builders. 

"It  will  take  no  harm  from  the  snow,"  he  said,  "and 
will  save  your  hands.  But  make  your  play  quick,  for  the 
sun  travels  north  to  bring  the  end  of  the  cold  moons." 

"  You  mean  he  comes  to  wake  Cethair,  spirit  king  of  the 
forest,  out  of  his  winter's  sleep,"  said  Ardan.  "Cethair 
but  breathes  over  the  fields,  and  all  the  snows  melt,  and  all 
of  leaf  and  bloom  comes  out  for  his  carpet  of  green 
fragrance." 

"  There  is  no  king  but  King  of  Heaven  and  Turlough, 
Ard-Ri  of  Erinn  —  our  own  kings  of  Leinster  and  Orielle, 
and  such,"  said  Cormac,  but  Ardan  was  deep  in  his  new 
play  and  had  no  words  of  argument.  Once  Cormac  looked 
and  saw  he  had  set  upright  a  slender  straight  sapling  of 
yew  in  the  packed  snow  of  the  slab,  and  once  he  noted  that 

[144] 


DERVAILI^NANCIAR 


the  hands  of  Ardan  stripped  from  the  sapling  all  but  two 
branches  reaching  out  east  and  west  as  the  arms  of  a  cross, 
and  after  that  Cormac  carved  at  stone  traceries,  well  satis 
fied  that  the  fosterling  of  King  Donough  was,  after  all,  but 
making  a  holy  thing. 

That  was  a  comforting  thought  to  the  good  Cormac, 
who  had  love  for  the  lad  who  was  known  only  as  Ardan 
of  Ardbreccan,  and  whose  stay  near  them  had  not  been  so 
long.  He  had  been  the  ward  of  the  holy  and  learned 
O'Cahsahde  of  Ardbreccan,  where  his  childhood  had  been 
lived  between  gray  walls,  and  under  the  great  oaks'  shade. 
At  death  of  that  holy  man,  who  was  called  "  Dall  Clairi- 
neach"  and  known  of  all  scholars,  his  ward  Ardan,  with 
wealth  and  comfort,  was  left  to  King  Donough  with  in 
struction  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  mother  whose  dying 
hope  had  been  that  sheltered  holiness  be  his  share  in  life ; 
and  no  more  was  known  of  him  than  that. 

But  his  breeding  spoke  of  gentle  blood,  and  Maureen  the 
queen  made  choice  of  him  for  comradeship  with  her  own 
children,  and  her  own  maidens  in  the  garden  games,  and 
the  gracious  sweetness  of  him  won  its  own  way  in  king's 
palace  or  monastery  walls. 


IN  the  shadow  of  the  wall  he  made  his  snow  form — 
that  the  rays  of  gold  of  the  sun  not  melt  the  white  of 
it;  and  Donough  O'Carroll  of  Orielle,  and  Diarmod 
of  Leinster,  his  overlord,  passed  that  way  and  spoke  of  the 
handsome  boy  and  his  destiny,  for  the  work  he  did  made 
him  look  like  a  monk,  and  his  father  had  been  known  only 
to  the  holy  Dall  Clairineach  of  Ardbreccan,  where  many 

C  145  ] 


sons  of  princes  wore  the  robe  of  scholarship  and  holy 
sanctity. 

The  two  kings  went  their  way,  and  Cormac  was  called 
by  Duighal  the  prior  to  another  place,  and  the  boy  was 
forgot  by  all,  and  the  snow  image  was  not  seen  by  any 
until  the  morning  after,  golden  lances  of  the  sun  touching 
it  when  coming  first  over  the  edge  of  the  green  sea. 

And  then,  at  sight  of  it,  Cormac  the  monk  cried  out  in 
awe,  and  his  cry  called  others  from  the  chapel. 

Duighal  the  prior  was  there,  and  the  two  kings  were 
there  and  Ardan  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall  in  a  queer 
trembling  of  joy  —  and  mayhaps  some  hunger,  for  he  had 
worked  till  the  setting  of  the  moon,  as  in  a  trance,  fasting. 

"  Is  it  a  miracle  of  Brighde,  the  Foster  Mother  of  God, 
as  the  blessed  mantle  was  given  her?"  muttered  the  prior, 
and  others  thought  it  Mary,  Queen  of  the  Elements.  But 
Diarmod  the  king  stood  beside  Donough  and  stroked  his 
dark  beard,  and  his  eyes  shot  green  fire. 

"A  miracle  it  may  be,  holy  father/*  he  said,  "but  the 
miracle  is  in  the  gift  given  the  mortal  hand  placing  it  there. 
Where  is  the  Ardbreccan  fosterling  who  heaped  up  the 
snow  on  this  slab  but  yesterday?" 

Cormac  the  carver  of  stone  pushed  forward  Ardan, 
whose  teeth  chattered  as  he  knelt  under  the  eyes  of  all 
the  brethren  and  the  two  kings. 

"  This  is  the  lad,  your  royalty ;  always  he  is  making  the 
coaxing  word  for  my  edged  tools  that  are  not  for  a  child. 
It  is  true  I  tossed  him  a  trowel  yesterday,  but  this  thing 
of  whiteness  with  jeweled  robe  of  dewdrops  could  not  have 
been  formed  by  mortal  hand  and  mason's  blade." 

"  Speak,  if  you  did  it,"  said  Diarmod  of  Leinster. 

"  Of  snow  I  did  it  with  a  tool  cut  from  wood.  In  the 
light  of  the  moon  I  worked  on  the  mantle  with  clear  water 
from  the  well.  The  freezing  water  there  made  the  jeweled 

[146] 


DERVAILliiNANClAR 


fringes  to  the  robe  —  it  was  no  miracle,  O  King,  and  I  will 
do  penance  that  I  made  the  thing  on  consecrated  ground. 
The  fever  took  me  to  work,  and  I  asked  no  permit." 

"  You  need  ask  none  forever  in  Leinster,"  said  Diarmod. 
"  Rise  up  to  walk  where  you  will  in  our  domain,  and  work 
when  you  will." 

There  was  a  buzzing  as  of  bees  among  the  monks  who 
looked  at  the  lad  and  at  the  white  limbs  of  the  snow  crea 
ture,  tip-toe  with  wide-spread  arms  like  a  bird  lifting  for 
flight.  The  mantle  of  it  spread  from  wrist  to  wrist  across 
head  and  shoulders  and  hung  truly  like  jeweled  wings  in  the 
early  risen  sun,  but  the  white  breasts  and  limbs  and 
body  were  bare  against  the  mantle  save  for  the  girdle 
of  maidenhood. 

The  prior  Duighal  was  the  one  with  a  frowning  face  at 
the  words  of  Diarmod,  and  he  looked  from  the  king  to  the 
white  wonder,  and  then  to  the  faces  of  the  monks,  bent 
and  shifty-eyed  as  they  glanced  sideways  at  each  other, 
and  then  at  the  white  snow  of  the  round  breasts. 

"  Penance  for  all  whose  eyes  are  smitten  by  the  sight ! " 
he  thundered.  "This  is  no  holy  thing  —  no  white  picture 
of  saint :  it  is  the  work  of  the  Evil  Father  forming  temp 
tation!  What  wench  has  bared  herself  for  you  that  you 
know  the  way  of  that?" 

His  staff  was  lifted  as  in  threat  above  Ardan,  who  gazed, 
round-eyed,  at  the  faces  of  the  monks,  and  the  holy  fury  of 
their  shepherd.  Donough  O'Carroll  stepped  between  the 
lifted  crook  and  the  builder  of  the  mystery. 

"  Look  again,  holy  father,"  he  said.  "  The  boy  has  not 
been  tempted;  that  understanding  is  elsewhere." 

"My  word  with  Donough,"  said  Diarmod.  "The  lad 
says  he  worked  in  a  fever  a  day  and  a  night  —  " 

"And  fasting,  too,  your  royalty,"  said  Cormac. 

"And  fasting,  too,"  said  Diarmod.     "Look  at  him:  it 

[147] 


DERVAIL  IfiNANCiAR. 


might  be  words  of  foreign  tribes  we  speak  for  all  he  under 
stands.  Look  at  him !  It  was  only  a  game  of  chance  that 
he  formed  a  virgin  maid  instead  of  a  white  bull  —  or  a 
white  fawn  of  the  forest." 

"  But  the  bulls  roam  the  hills  uncloaked,"  said  Donough 
O'Carroll  with  a  laugh;  "so  also  does  the  fawn  and  its 
dam.  Speak,  lad  —  we  know  it  was  no  wench  came  to  you 
here  in  the  cold  of  the  night  —  and  to  a  wench  no  girdle 
would  be  given.  How  got  you  that  mystery  as  you  got  it? 
This  is  sanctuary  —  you  can  speak." 

Ardan  stared  at  the  listeners  like  a  trapped  thing,  and 
then  knelt  before  Donough. 

"  I  am  under  bonds  as  a  son  to  you  —  and  I  meant  no 
evil.  I  have  the  mind  dark  on  your  meanings.  I  crave 
your  pardon,  and  the  pardon  of  your  queen  for  her  fos 
terling.  It  was  at  the  bathing  pool  in  the  summer  time. 
Her  maidens  were  in  the  water,  and  like  that  she  stood 
tip-toe  on  the  high  stone  at  the  pool's  margin.  Like  a  bird 
with  wide  wings  she  stood  ere  the  mantle  slid  from  her 
shoulder.  Proud  she  stood,  and  I  from  the  thick  green 
of  the  other  shore  saw  her  thus  —  more  of  beauty  in  her 
than  snow  and  ice  can  tell!  I  went  deep  into  the  forest 
that  day  —  lest  they  see  me  and  deem  me  a  spy  on  their 
pleasure-place.  That  is  all,  O  Donough!  If  I  have  done  a 
wrong  deed,  I  ask  to  atone  to  the  priests  and  to  the  maid.*' 

"Her  name  has  not  yet  been  spoke,"  said  Donough, 
and  Diarmod  made  a  quick  step  forward  and  laid  his  hand 
on  the  head  of  Ardan. 

"To  your  feet,"  he  said.  "Is  there  name  to  a  living 
maid  for  the  double  of  that?  Is  there  a  name?" 

Ardan  turned  his  gaze  from  the  eager  king  to  Donough, 
and  then  to  the  frowning  prior. 

"If  it  might  be  spoke  in  another  place?"  he  plead,  but 
the  prior  lifted  the  staff. 

[148] 


DEJWAI  Clip  NAN  CIAR 

"  Here  in  this  place  where  the  evil  thing  was  wrougfit," 
he  thundered,  "here  begins  your  penance  with  open  con 
fession  before  all!'* 

Ardan  turned  to  Donough  O'Carroll. 

"  If  first  I  could  speak  of  the  word  to  you  alone?  "  he  said. 

But  Donough  laughed  at  the  pleading,  and  lived  to  know 
sorrow  of  the  heart  for  that  laughing. 

"As  you  have  shown  her  breasts  and  her  body  to  us, 
give  us  the  name." 

"But  — let  me  entreat — " 

"The  name,  lad,  the  name!    What  is  she  called?" 

"She  is  called  — Dervail." 

The  voice  of  him  went  low  as  the  breath-whisper.  Yet 
it  was  too  loud  for  Donough,  whose  face  was  thunder- 
black  and  threatening. 

The  prior  heard  and  turned  on  the  monks,  with  words  of 
censure  for  hearkening,  and  his  orders  brought  them  to 
heel  like  a  pack  of  hunting  hounds  on  the  wrong  trail. 

Diarmod  heard,  and  his  eyes,  with  the  strange  green 
fire,  narrowed  as  he  looked  at  King  Donough. 

"  What  sweet  hidden  thing  have  you  put  away  for  holi 
days,  good  friend?"  he  asked.  "The  lad  only  spoke  in 
whisper,  yet  the  sound  of  it  echoes  among  you  like  a 
thunder-clap  in  the  hills." 

"  It  is  not  hidden  by  choice  of  mine,  Diarmod,"  and  the 
voice  of  Donough  had  the  gloom  on  it.  "  We  will  to  break 
fast  and  then  —  " 

"The  lad  at  our  table  for  the  food!"  decided  Diarmod. 
"  Look  not  so  down,  lad,  because  you  held  beauty  in  your 
mind  more  close  than  most  of  us.  The  monks  today  dare 
not  bury  you  alive  as  they  once  did  to  sinners.  Their  for 
bears  would  have  left  you  pinned  to  the  earth  for  a  smaller 
thing  than  a  naked  virgin  in  their  cloister  —  even  the  prior 
will  have  dreams  tonight ! " 

C149] 


DERVAILlillNANCIAR 


Then  he  walked  around  the  white  figure  to  see  the  solid 
backing  of  the  cloak  to  the  slender  body,  and  smiled  at  the 
craft  of  it.  The  mystery  of  it  was  going,  yet  he  glanced 
from  under  his  brows  at  the  lad,  and  had  wonder. 

"Lucky  for  me  that  I  abode  the  night  with  you, 
Donough  O'Carroll,  else  would  I  have  missed  this  in  life," 
he  said,  "  and  no  man  can  hope  to  see  it  twice.  This  will 
be  a  melting  day,  and  the  wind  has  turned :  it  comes  the 
sea-way  since  the  dawn." 

"The  sea-way,"  said  Ardan,  "the  eastern  sea-way  —  the 
path  of  sorrows." 

"Why  do  you  give  that  word?"  asked  Donough  O'Car 
roll,  staring  at  him. 

"I  have  no  knowing  why  I  spoke  it,"  said  Ardan.  "I 
thought  I  heard  it  somewhere.  And  look  you !  It  is  true : 
I  fasted  and  half  froze  to  build  that  while  the  joy  of  build 
ing  was  with  me  —  and  like  a  white  jewel  it  was  when  the 
sun  touched  it  this  morn.  But  the  sun  ray  is  gone,  and 
the  wind  of  the  east  brings  the  melting  with  it,  and  the 
jewels  of  the  mantle  are  dripping  tears  already  —  tears! 
I  should  have  wrought  with  metal  tools  in  stronger  stuff." 

Cormac  had  come  back  with  a  stout,  long  stave  under 
orders  of  the  prior,  and  stood  waiting  in  courtesy  the  going 
of  the  two  kings. 

"  Go  you  to  your  food,  lad,"  he  said  kindly ;  "  the  tools 
you  shall  have  at  need.  But  go  you,  for  your  fasting  gives 
you  the  sight  of  things  you  know  nought  of  at  all!  The 
Hidden  People  of  the  Ancient  Days  are  putting  speech  on 
you;  go  to  food,  and  drink,  and  human  thoughts." 

"  I  would  rather  do  that,"  said  Ardan.  "  I  had  the  Dream 
of  things  with  me  when  I  built  this,  and  my  heart  would 
sorrow  to  watch  the  white  of  it  melt  gray  in  its  own  tears. 
She  is  still  the  white  bird  tip-toe  for  flight ! " 

Donough  O'Carroll  looked  at  Ardan  as  if  he  was  seeing 

[150] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR 


him  for  the  first  time  in  life,  and  Diarmod  the  king  tore 
himself  from  the  gazing,  and  strode  beside  Donough  with 
the  swing  of  the  man  who  had  found  things  easy  in  life. 

"  Diarmod  MacMurrough,  have  you  given  heed  to  the 
words  you  have  heard  beside  that  white  wonder  image  ?  " 
asked  Donough. 

"  I  have  that.  Some  of  the  words  are  as  full  of  wonder 
as  the  image  itself,"  said  Diarmod. 

"  Take  them  to  your  remembrance  then,  for  no  idle  words 
were  said  there.  That  boy  had  the  right  knowing,  and  was 
right  in  his  silence,  but  I  made  him  speak.  It  is  my  grief.'* 

"  It  is  no  grief  of  mine,"  said  Diarmod,  and  laughed  as 
one  who  holds  his  own  thoughts. 


HT  the  angle  where  the  path  narrowed  to  the  portal, 
Donough,  in  courtesy  to  his  overlord,  stepped  a  pace 
aside  and  behind.  A  sound  came  to  him  of  wood 
striking  on  wood,  and  he  looked  back,  and  he  was  glad  the 
lad  was  making  reply  to  some  asking  of  the  king,  and  did 
not  see  the  thing  he  saw. 

Cormac  was  doing  well  his  task :  the  white  wings  were 
shattered,  and  the  slender  white  body  broken.  There  was 
nothing  left  of  the  Dream  but  the  dark  cross  of  the  young 
yew  tree  dripping  drearily  against  the  gray  stone  of  the 
wall.  The  wind  from  the  east  carried  the  melting  mist 
with  it,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  sight  of  the  sun 
anywhere. 

Donough  O'Carroll  went  into  his  house  that  day  with  a 
heavy  gloom  on  his  face  —  a  strange  gloom  for  one  shown 
honor  by  his  overlord. 

[151] 


DERVAIL 


The  woman  who  loved  him  looked  her  amaze  that  he 
put  aside  the  bread  she  offered,  and  called  first  for  the 
wine  at  morningtide. 

"Let  be,  Maureen,"  he  said,  and  spoke  to  her  lowly. 
"  Take  your  heed  of  our  friends  if  I  limp  lacking  in  cour 
tesy  this  day.  I  feel  'fey'  with  some  happenings  of  the 
morn,  and  would  that  you  send  best  messenger  and  swift 
est  horse  for  Kieran  Dall  of  the  caves.  The  king  must  be 
told  some  truths  and  some  sayings.  And  it  must  be  a  holy 
man,  and  a  wise  one  for  the  telling." 


coming  of  Kieran  Dall  was  at  the  nightfall,  and 
the  O'Carroll  had  a  day  of  fever  and  fuming  with 
his  overlord  who  had  moods  of  haste  for  the  thing 
he  wanted. 

"  Why  should  the  name  of  a  strange  maid  so  witch  your 
thoughts  from  Mor  na  Tuathal  and  the  daughters  of 
princes?  "  asked  Donough,  and  Diarmod  laughed  his  happy 
laugh  by  which  hearts  had  been  won. 

"Why  should  the  lad  who  knows  not  love  have  made 
her  his  Dream?  Answer  me  that,  and  you  will  have  your 
own  answer!  What  put  silence  on  the  monks  when  her 
name  was  spoke?  There  are  mysteries  in  it,  and  riddles 
are  sometimes  witchery." 

"  Mine  is  not  the  telling  of  the  riddle,  but  it  will  be  told 
for  you,"  said  Donough. 

When  the  supper  was  over,  and  only  the  two  kings  and 
the  blind  monk  called  Kieran  Dall  were  in  the  great  room 
which  was  for  private  and  secret  things,  their  talk  began. 

"  It  is  for  a  curious  thing  I  have  sent  for  you,  O  Kieran," 

[152] 


said  Donough  of  Orielle.  "  With  me  is  my  friend,  a  hunter 
from  the  south.  He  is  a  MacMurrough,  and  I  want  him 
by  my  side  when  I  hear  the  story  of  the  maid  called 
Dervail  nan  Ciar." 

"That  maid  is  of  your  fostering,  since  the  death  of 
Ethnea  your  sister,  to  God  her  soul!  She  is  called  the 
ward,  or  the  daughter,  of  Murtagh  of  Meath  —  is  Dervail 
of  the  Shadow.  Beauty  was  hers  by  birth,  and  wealth  is 
hers  by  a  dower  of  fear.  Of  that  you  should  know  some 
what,  O'Donough,  as  you  should  know  why  the  wife  of 
Murtagh  has  fear  of  her  and  would  give  all  wealth  of  the 
valley  of  the  Boyne  rather  than  have  her  under  the  roof 
of  Meath.  What  new  thing  can  a  hermit  of  the  caves  have 
for  your  worldly  knowing,  O  Donough,  prince  of  Orielle?" 
said  Kieran  Dall. 

"It  is  not  of  the  new  I  would  hear — it  is  of  the  ancient 
old.  It  is  of  the  prophecy;  it  is  of  the  reason  why  that 
blood  is  feared  and  must  not  repeat  itself  in  Erinn.  It  is 
the  year  and  the  time  when  she  was  to  go  from  my  castle 
to  the  walls  of  holy  sanctuary,  and  the  dower  of  fear  to  go 
with  her." 

Diarmod,  stretched  on  a  pile  of  wolf  skins  in  the  glint 
of  the  firelight,  looked  up  and  gave  Donough  a  smile  at 
that.  But  the  sightless  eyes  of  Kieran  could  not  see  the 
look,  or  the  mockery  of  it. 

"  True,  it  is  the  time,"  said  Kieran,  "  and  the  reason  of 
it  goes  back  to  the  dim  old  days  when  men  who  walked 
the  world  took  mates  ofttimes  from  the  Hidden  Tribes. 
Aye,  that  was  the  way  of  it  more  oft  than  in  the  days  in 
which  we  live.  The  dark  mist  of  the  earth-mind  was  not 
so  thick  between  us  in  them  times,  and  there  were  other 
matings  not  to  be  spoken.  Women  of  the  sea  and  wolves 
from  the  forest  have  helped  man  bring  forbidden  lives  — 
lives  without  souls— -on  the  earth.  The  saints  know  it, 

[  153  ] , 


DERVAIL  {&SNANCIAR 


and  God  knows  it,  and  the  tribes  of  that  people  have  often 
strange  evils  in  their  blood." 

There  was  silence  while  the  blind  eyes  stared  into  the 
red  ash  as  if  seeing  visions. 

"  How  far  back  can  you  be  going  into  the  dim  days  of 
that  time?"  asked  Donough. 

"  The  mind  can  go  far  back  on  paths  where  speech  must 
not  follow,"  said  Kieran.  "  To  give  words  to  things  gives 
power  to  them  as  well.  To  give  names  calls  up  the  shadow 
—  white  or  gray  —  of  the  soul  that  answered  to  it  on  earth. 
That  is  a  true  saying.  And  there  are  them  not  to  be  called 
back  —  the  names  going  out  in  shadows!  Under  a  like 
shade  the  child  Dyveke  Og,  called  Dervail,  was  born  into 
Erinn.  Her  birthing  belonged  in  another  land,  and  not 
here  —  not  here  at  all. 

"Among  the  druids  of  the  dim  days  there  were  sacred 
things,  sacred  rules,  and  names,  and  priests  who  were 
kings.  I  am  not  naming  the  name  of  one,  or  the  name  of 
his  tribe,  but  there  was  one  who  was  Highest,  who  was 
given  'the  sight/  yet  the  rules  were  broke  by  him,  and 
broke  for  a  woman  who  brought  temptings.  The  name  of 
that  woman  is  not  to  be  spoke,  but  she  was  a  queen  in  her 
own  tribe  —  and  it  was  a  tribe  of  the  blood  of  the  wolves  of 
Alba.  To  Erinn  she  fled  as  for  sanctuary  —  and  brought 
her  temptings.  The  madness  of  love  she  brought  on  that 
priest  who  was  king,  and  he  was  netted  by  her  as  a  fish  is 
netted  in  a  deep-sea  net  —  and  was  borne  by  her  kinsmen 
across  the  sea  to  their  land.  Her  kinsmen  were  the  bar 
barians  of  the  east,  and  he  was  held  by  them  as  hostage 
while  Erinn  paid  eric  in  skins  of  the  deer  and  otter,  and 
gold  from  the  rivers  of  the  west.  That  is  how  it  was  until 
a  helot  of  Alba  made  way  through  their  traps  and  their 
walls  and  brought  the  word  to  Erinn;  and  a  sad  word  it 
was,  for  there  was  no  truth  in  that  people!  The  priest- 

[154] 


DERVAIL^NANCIAR 


king,  netted  through  love,  had  neither  feet,  nor  hands,  nor 
eyes  left  to  him.  Their  women  tortured  him,  yet  kept  him 
alive  as  mockery  of  a  king,  for  a  king  of  Erinn  must  be 
without  blemish.  Speech  was  left  him,  and  nothing  else 
of  a  human  was  left  him.  He  made  a  rune,  and  word  by 
word  the  helot  learned  the  words  of  it  and  brought  it  to 
Erinn.  A  long  rune  it  was,  too.  And  first  of  it  was  that 
no  further  eric  was  to  go  out  of  Erinn  for  him  to  the  red 
brutes  of  the  eastern  shores.  He  alone,  by  his  death  there, 
would  pay  the  price  of  his  fall  —  but  it  was  worth  the  sum 
mer  and  winter  of  torturings  if  he  alone  could  pay  for  the 
lesson  to  Erinn,  and  to  the  men  of  Erinn.  He  laid  on  his 
own  clan  a  heavy  rule  that  by  Sun  and  Moon,  Earth  and 
Air,  Fire  and  Water,  and  the  lives  of  their  children,  no 
bond  of  faith  be  made  with  the  men  of  Alba,  and  no  mar 
riage  with  a  woman  of  Alba,  for  the  blood  was  not  the 
blood  of  clean  people,  and  the  eyes  of  that  people  had  no 
vision  of  clean  faith  in  bonds  of  fealty. 

"  In  that  rune  he  had  the  vision  of  the  greatness  of  Erinn 
if  tribe  by  tribe  they  made  bonds  only  with  each  other  for 
the  glory  of  Inis  Fohdla,  which,  even  in  far  ancient  days, 
was  named  that  —  the  Isle  of  Destiny." 

"Why  is  Erinn,  in  the  ancient  runes,  called  by  that 
calling?"  asked  Donough. 

Kieran  Dall  shook  his  head. 

"I  do  not  know.  God  knows!  Men  who  named  the 
stars  called  it  by  that  name,  and  had  '  the  sight.'  A  land 
was  given  to  the  Hidden  People,  who  were  great  people; 
they  have  not  known  death,  yet  have  never  left  the  land  of 
Inis  Fohdla.  In  the  years  ahead  they  will  again  have  a 
birthing,  and  the  hidden  things  of  the  wise  are  in  their 
keeping  until  that  day.  For  three  centuries  Erinn  has 
been  the  school  for  the  sons  of  Brythen  and  France,  and 
other  foreign  people.  The  Dane  invaders  were  driven 

[155  J 


home  by  Brian  of  the  Tributes,  and  Inis  Fohdla  pays 
tithing  to  no  viking  of  the  foreign  in  our  day ;  it  may  hap 
pen  that  we  are  near  to  reading  the  riddle  of  Inis  Fohdla 
and  that  naming ;  it  may  be  so  if  the  faith  is  kept  in  peace, 
and  the  rune  of  that  king  of  the  tortures  be  not  lost  again 
as  it  was  lost  by  Cuan  the  Dark  in  the  days  I  hold  in 
memory." 

"Who  was  Cuan  the  Dark?"  asked  Donough. 

"He  was  of  the  blood  of  that  priest-king  of  the  rune; 
he  was  also  of  my  blood,  but  his  own  name  is  not  spoke. 
He  was  of  the  sacred  line  into  which  no  blood  of  the  enemy 
must  flow  lest  it  bring  the  curse  of  a  thousand  years' 
helotage  on  Inis  Fohdla." 

There  was  silence  as  the  slow  words  of  the  blind  hermit 
sunk  to  the  minds  of  the  two  kings. 

"A  thousand  years!"  muttered  Diarmod.  "How  could 
Erinn  be  held  as  tribute-payer  for  a  thousand  years  to  a 
king  of  the  foreign?  Thorgils  and  Ota  the  queen  did  hold 
the  Sionan  and  many  harbors,  and  the  tax  paid  to  the 
Danes  was  a  heavy  tax.  But  years  more  than  one  hundred 
are  gone  since  there  was  taxing  like  that.  How  could  it 
be  coming  again?" 

"  I  have  not  the  sight  for  that,"  said  Kieran.  "  It  was 
the  prophecy,  and  the  penalty  spoken  in  the  ancient  rune 
if  that  line  of  the  kings  should  take  mates  from  the  red- 
wolf  women  of  Alba." 

"But  — it  was  of  one  line  alone  — one  family  — or  one 
clan,"  said  Diarmod. 

"Aye  —  it  was  one  alone,  but  that  one  was  the  sacred 
line  of  the  priest-kings.  Their  rule  was  the  rule  for  the 
men  of  the  crown  and  the  temple,  and  the  people  of  lower 
rank  would  follow.  It  was  before  the  time  of  Christian 
men  in  Erinn.  It  would  take  more  than  the  time  of  one 
winter  night  to  tell  you  all  the  difference  in  minds  and 

[156] 


lives  between  that  day  and  this  day.  But  through  all  the 
changes  the  line  of  Cuan  the  Dark  kept  to  the  law  of  that 
rune  —  eight  times  one  hundred  years  was  the  time  it  was 
held  to  and  the  line  was  clean,  and  the  record  of  that  line 
was  proud. 

"And  then?" 

"  Then  the  young  had  the  teaching  that  no  thing  could 
be  truth  but  the  truths  spoke  by  the  saints  of  the  New 
God,  though  truth  was  in  the  world  before  Mary  came  to 
the  birth. 

"Truth  is  truth  for  always,  and  even  the  pagans  had 
many  true  things  in  their  hearts.  But  the  young  are  light 
of  mind,  and  do  not  see  these  things.  So  it  was  with  Cuan 
the  Dark. 

"To  Spain  he  sailed  for  a  matter  of  import,  and  I  was 
beside  him.  To  the  land  of  France  we  went,  and  I  walked 
the  lines  of  mighty  Carnac,  and  thought  of  kindred  won 
ders  at  Knocknarea  in  our  own  land.  There  were  women 
everywhere,  and  they  were  the  days  of  his  youth,  and  he 
gave  them  love,  and  good-will,  and  farewell!  So  it  was 
with  us,  and  home  he  sailed,  glad  and  free  of  heart ;  and  it 
was  here  in  Erinn  he  met  that  trial  he  was  to  meet.  He 
broke  the  gels  laid  on  his  line,  and  on  his  birth,  when  he 
looked  on  Dyveke  the  Dove,  child  of  Gorm,  son  of  Knud 
of  the  rath  of  Knud. 

"  The  mother  of  Dyveke  had  been  a  woman  out  of  Alba, 
blue  of  eyes  and  flaming  of  hair,  and  in  her  own  land  she 
had  been  to  the  front  with  her  kinsmen  in  battle.  But 
Gorm  the  Dane  had  his  way  with  her  and  stole  her  to  sail 
the  seas  with  him,  as  was  well-fitting,  for  each  was  of  a 
tribe  drinking  from  skulls  at  their  joy-feasts,  and  fierce 
alike  in  their  lovings. 

"  Sons  they  had,  but  they  never  kept  life  long;  that  fierce 
mother  held  her  strength  for  her  own  passions.  There 

[1571 


DERVAIL^flNANCIAR 


was  a  saying  for  that  among  the  Danes.  Then  Dyveke 
came  to  birth,  and  the  mother  went  out  of  life.  It  may  be 
there  were  fairer  things  on  earth  than  Dyveke ;  but  I  never 
saw  them. 

"Dyveke  means  'dove'  in  the  wording  of  her  father, 
Gorm,  and  no  breast  of  dove  was  whiter,  and  no  flight  of 
dove  had  more  of  grace  —  and  no  love-call  of  a  dove  had 
more  of  music  than  her  voice. 

"  From  her  grianan  she  smiled  down  with  look  of  longing 
on  Cuan  the  Dark,  who  sat  on  his  black  racer  below,  and 
the  madness  came  on  him  there  for  that  look  and  for  that 
woman  —  and  the  madness  stayed. 

"None  of  his  elders  was  there  — I  alone  who  knew  the 
geis  was  there  —  the  geis  every  son  of  our  line  was  bond 
man  to. 

"  But  he  was  deaf  to  my  words  when  she  spoke! 

"  A  noble  of  the  Danes  named  Thorold  had  heard,  in  the 
far  north,  of  the  beauty  of  her,  and  came  with  gifts  and 
with  offers.  She  took  his  gifts  and  gave  him  love  looks  as 
she  gave  to  Cuan  the  Dark.  The  boats  of  Thorold  the 
Dane  were  anchored  in  the  bay,  and  the  word  went  out 
that  it  would  be  with  Thorold  she  would  sail  as  wife. 

"That  was  the  day  Cuan  the  Dark  changed  to  a  wild 
thing  showing  his  teeth  — the  girl  Dyveke  had  looked 
love  on  him,  and  he  had  that  madness. 

"  I  made  him  listen  to  the  record  of  the  ancient  horror 
when  a  woman  of  Alban  birth  had  brought  death  in  life 
to  a  prince  of  his  line. 

"  I  held  him  as  I  reasoned  with  him,  speaking  over  the 
names  of  the  men  who  for  the  hundreds  of  years  had  taken 
the  vow  and  the  bond  for  his  own  life,  and  the  lives  of  his 
children.  He  fought  me  and  growled  back  that  the  vows 
were  pagan  vows  —  not  Christian  —  and  not  binding  on  a 
christened  man. 

[158] 


DERVAILjMlNANCIAR 


"  I  spoke  the  rune  of  the  priest-prince  who  had  warned 
his  clan  to  make  no  bond  forever  with  the  fierce  Albans  of 
the  jealous  eyes: 


Thus  shall  it  ever  be: 
Honor  and  sanctity 
Shed  on  the  sons  of  Eire. 

Sleep  with  the  sword  between 
Sons  and  a  foreign  queen! 
To  daughters  the  blue  dirk's  sheen 
Sooner  than  blood  unclean! 

For  Fohdla  the  Fair 
Hold  blood  and  the  land, 
Else  victors  of  Erinn 
Swarm  red  on  her  strand! 

For  eric  is  breaking; 
For  soft  heart  in  taking 
A  mate  out  of  Alba 
A  thousand   years'  snare! 

A  thousand  years'  yoke 
On  the  bent  neck  of  Erinn; 
A  thousand  years'  tribute  of  blood, 
Inis  Fair! 

"That  was  the  gels  made  binding  by  the  priest-king  in 
exile  ere  they  cut  out  the  tongue  from  him,  and  left  him  to 
rot  when  his  clans  heard  of  the  maiming  and  sent  no  more 
gold  of  the  ransom  to  the  woman  who  had  netted  him. 
She  was  a  queen;  she  had  heard  of  his  beauty  and  his 
sacred  knowings,  and  had  the  jealous  eye  for  that  which 
was  too  fine  for  the  vision  of  her  people.  Aye  —  she  netted 
him  and  tricked  his  clan  to  pay  eric  against  the  day  of  his 
return.  And  in  the  end  he  fed  with  her  wolfhounds,  and 
was  torn  to  death  in  their  fightings.  That  is  how  it  was ; 
but  he  had  the  clear  vision  of  the  future  years  before  his 

[159] 


going !  That  rune  I  told,  and  the  vision  I  told,  to  Cuan  the 
Dark  that  it  make  strong  his  gels  to  hold  against  the  charm 
of  Dyveke  the  Dove." 

"Did  it  hold?"  asked  Diarmod. 

"  It  did  not  hold.  He  broke  from  me  and  shouted  that 
there  were  Christian  bonds  between  Erinn  and  the  ancient 
enemies  to  the  east.  He  would  follow  the  Christian  bond, 
and  make  a  forgetting  of  pagan  geis  laid  upon  princes  of 
his  line.  That  is  how  it  was.  I  was  the  one  who  sent  for 
the  elders  of  our  house,  but  it  was  too  late.  She  was  in  his 
dun  at  Cualann  ere  their  coming.  There  it  was  the  men 
of  his  line  put  against  him  the  ban  of  the  unnaming,  and 
the  forgetting.  That  is  where  her  lover,  Thorold  the  Dane, 
stood  him  siege  for  her  and  made  break  in  his  walls.  The 
curse  of  the  geis  came  in  quickness  to  Cuan,  for  it  was  the 
hand  of  Dyveke,  of  the  whiteness  of  doves,  by  which  a 
knife  found  his  heart,  and  his  head  was  tossed  by  her  from 
the  tower  to  the  feet  of  her  lover,  Thorold ! 

"  With  Thorold  she  sailed  out  to  sea,  but  the  girl  child 
she  had  borne  to  Cuan  after  that  beheading  was  hid  in 
the  cell  of  a  monk  who  was  let  near  for  some  shrivings. 
Thorold  was  raging  like  a  maddened  bull  for  the  death  of 
the  child  not  his.  Two  were  born  that  night.  One  was 
dead;  it  was  given  into  his  hands,  and  the  fierce  soul  of 
him  was  content  with  that,  not  knowing.  But  Dyveke, 
the  white,  knew  somewhat.  She  had  heard  the  unnaming 
and  the  ban  of  his  clan  against  Cuan  for  her  sake.  She 
had  heard  the  geis  of  the  rune,  and  she  had  bitter  hate  for 
the  banning  of  her,  or  of  her  blood,  and  it  was  a  bitter 
curse  she  put  against  Erinn  at  her  going  away,  and  a  bit 
ter  prayer  she  made  that  the  seed  of  Cuan  might  raise 
up  hosts  of  wolves  to  tear  each  at  the  throat  of  the  other  till 
the  geis  of  the  rune  held  true,  and  Erinn  was  broken,  and 
her  neck  under  the  foot  of  the  foreign  men  of  enmity." 

[160] 


DERVAlLlMlNANCIAR 


The  two  kings  looked  at  each  other  across  the  light  of 
the  fire  and  Diarmod  turned  to  the  portal  as  if  a  cold  wind 
had  struck  him.  He  moved  more  close  to  the  hearthstone 
and  drew  over  him  a  robe  of  otter  skin. 

"And  that  was  the  ending?"  he  said. 

"God  and  Mary  knows!  Mayhaps  it  was  the  begin 
ning!  It  was  the  year  Adrian,  Pope  in  Rome,  signed  the 
grant  of  Erinn  to  King  Henry  what  time  he  could  win 
warriors  for  its  conquering.  The  conquerors  have  not  yet 
sailed  from  Alba,  but  the  eyes  of  Alba  are  jealous  eyes, 
and  the  grant  was  given  the  year  the  child  of  Cuan,  Dyveke 
Og,  came,  born  living,  into  the  land  of  Erinn." 

"Young  Dyveke?"  repeated  O'Carroll.  "That  name 
for  her  was  never  told  me." 

"Your  sister,  the  Lady  Ethnea,  had  hatred  of  it,  and 
Dervail  was  the  name  she  made  choice  of  instead.  The 
mother  of  Cuan  had  kindred  in  the  Ua  Machflain,  and  to 
King  Murtagh  went  the  Lady  Ethnea  with  concern  for 
the  dower  and  station  of  the  unwelcome  woman-child.  A 
dower  was  given  for  her  life  in  sanctuary,  and  that  dower 
was  doubled  by  Ethnea  who  had  love  for  the  father  of  the 
child.  The  ward  of  King  Murtagh  she  has  been  called, 
and  it  may  be  she  is  thought  of  his  breed.  But  Duighal 
knows  she  is  Dervail  nan  Ciar,  who  had  no  right  to  live; 
and  King  Murtagh  has  no  longing  to  see  the  evil  face  of 
her  —  she  is  of  the  shadows,  and  to  be  forgotten  in  walls  of 
sanctuary  —  and  the  walls  built  high." 

"  It  is  the  first  full  hearing  of  the  child  I  have  asked  for, 
though  I  had  fear  of  the  truth,"  said  Donough.  "From 
the  monastery  she  was  taken  to  the  castle  of  Ethnea,  my 
sister.  At  the  dying  of  that  sister,  she  was  brought  to 
Maureen,  who  thinks  her  a  bud  of  the  tree  of  Machflain 
of  Meath,  to  end  in  the  convent  of  sheltered  women." 

"Aye  —  that  was  hope  of  the  prior  when  he  gave  pen- 

[161] 


D¥RVAIL  JJJINAN  CIAR 


ance  to  the  monk  who  carried  that  white  wolf's  whelp  to 
his  cell  for  safety!  Aye  —  the  years  pass,  and  she  has 
reached  the  age.  No  sons  and  no  daughters  should  come 
to  Erinn  of  that  breed  of  Dyveke.  I  saw  what  I  saw  of  the 
broken  gels,  and  my  hair  went  white  in  that  seeing,  and  for 
that  the  fear  is  on  me  for  that  breed." 

"Then  it  was  not  in  the  young  years  the  sight  dark 
came  on  you,  Kieran  of  the  cell?"  said  Diarmod  the  king. 

"  It  was  not  in  the  young  years.  It  was  by  the  hand  of 
the  one  love  of  my  kinsman,  Cuan  the  Dark.  Her  lover, 
Thorold,  found  me  out  where  I  was  putting  a  cover  of 
earth  over  his  headless  body.  The  brute  men  of  Thorold 
held  me,  and  her  white  hand  drew  the  hot  iron  across  my 
eyes.  She  was  hard,  jealous,  and  she  forgot  nothing.  She 
was  Alba!  She  had  the  name  of  Dyveke  the  Dove,  and 
her  looks  were  sweet  looks,  and  her  voice  had  the  music 
of  birds,  but  her  heart  was  the  heart  of  her  foremothers 
who  ran  with  the  wolf  pack." 

Diarmod  laughed  low.  "  Your  words  are  not  the  words 
of  a  priest  of  Mary,"  he  said.  "  An  army  of  men  with  your 
heart  would  be  a  good  army  for  battles." 

"Battles  for  Erinn  were  dreams  in  my  life,"  said 
Kieran.  Dyveke  knew  the  dreams,  and  let  me  have  my 
blinded  life  for  the  mourning  of  them!  I  wear  the  robe 
and  do  penance  for  my  sins  and  for  the  sins  of  Cuan  who 
died  unshriven.  But  there  is  no  sin  in  the  strangle  of  a 
wolf,  and  no  seas  would  be  too  wide  for  her  following  if  I 
had  but  the  sight.  May  she  burn  in  hell  all  the  years  there 
is  shadow  on  Erinn!" 

"  Be  it  so  if  she  brings  that  shadow,"  said  Donough,  "  for 
that  is  no  sin  to  say." 

"  Truth  for  you !  And  the  same  to  all  who  would  walk 
in  her  thoughts !  In  the  name  of  the  Elements,  and  Mary, 
and  the  Father  and  Son ! " 

[162] 


DERVAIL 


"In  the  holy  names,"  said  Diarmod  the  king,  and  rose 
and  stood  by  the  fire  with  the  otter  skin  robe  about  him  in 
a  quick  tremble  of  cold. 

Donough  O'Carroll  looked  at  him,  and  poured  wine  from 
the  flagon  into  a  jeweled  cup. 

"  To  your  warmth,"  he  said.  "  We  have  talked  the  fire 
low  on  the  hearth.  Empty  the  guest  cup  with  me  for 
comfort  of  the  body." 

Then  he  poured  a  cup  for  Kieran,  thanked  him  and 
asked  what  gift  he  could  give  him  for  the  story  of  the  blood 
of  Dervail  nan  Ciar,  whose  true  name  was  Danish  dove. 

"Give  your  gift  to  Erinn  for  me,  and  make  your  own 
choice  of  that  gift,"  said  Kieran,  "  but  let  it  be  a  good  ship 
to  take  the  wolf's  whelp  as  far  out  of  the  land  as  the  shores 
of  Egypt,  and  that  is  a  far  sail  for  a  good  ship ;  or  failing 
that,  build  a  wall  of  stone,  doubled,  around  the  convent 
where  she  is  barred  from  the  sight  of  men.  If  she  has  what 
her  mother,  Dyveke,  had,  say  prayers  to  Phadraig  and  to 
Brighde  that  the  curse  of  the  eric  be  not  laid  on  Erinn." 

"That  besides  the  doubled  wall?"  said  Diarmod,  who 
was  warmed  by  the  wine,  and  spoke  lightly. 

"Aye — besides  the  double  wall!  The  paying  of  that 
eric  is  beyond  thought.  It  is  the  yoke  of  a  slave  and  a 
thousand  years  of  blood  on  the  bent  head  of  Erinn ! " 


!IERAN  was  led  to  rest  by  a  servant  of  the  castle,  and 
was  not  told  that  Diarmod  the  king  had  been  a 
listener  to  the  tale  of  the  rune. 

Diarmod  paced  the  room  and  quaffed  another  cup  of  the 
red  wine  of  Gaul. 

C163] 


DERVAlLlPlNANClAR 


"Is  it  not  enough  that  the  priestly  rules  are  ever  near 
to  ban  anything  of  beauty  coming  a  man's  way?"  he 
grumbled.  "  But  a  hermit  must  bring  runes  of  a  thousand 
years  to  strengthen  that  ban!  The  tale  would  witch  a 
man  to  follow  her  if  but  to  see  if  she  had  the  wonder  in  her 
of  Dyveke  the  Dove  —  and  tame  that  wonder  as  a  falcon 
is  tamed  for  the  wrist  of  the  master." 

"But  that  is  a  bird  you  will  not  take  from  its  cage, 
Diarmod?"  said  Donough.  "Take  to  memory  the  gels  of 
your  own  line  against  the  hunting  of  birds  —  it  is  more 
than  a  thousand  years,  yet  the  bards  are  telling  the  legend 
even  in  our  day  —  and  it  was  a  white  bird  in  the  legend, 
Diarmod,  a  white  bird  coming  to  earth  with  love-words 
and  warnings  to  your  ancestress,  who  was  queen  —  and 
this  white  bird  of  the  cloister  you  will  not  be  seeking  cage 
for,  Diarmod?" 

There  was  silence  but  for  the  crackle  of  the  new  wood 
heaped  on  the  fire,  and  Diarmod  looked  long  into  the  red 
heart  of  the  flame  before  he  spoke. 

"No,  Donough  —  one  veiled  maid  of  the  cloisters 
brought  shadow  enough  and  blame  enough  to  me — that 
is  long  since,  yet  never  forgot." 

"It  is  Dhira  you  mean?" 

"  It  is  Dhira.  Rest  to  her  soul !  She  was  robbed  from 
me  again  by  Dall  Clairineach  and  hid  in  shadow  to  her 
death.  No,  I  will  not  take  another  maid  from  convent 
walls  —  and  no  guest  of  yours  from  your  castle ;  but  if  she 
is  fair  of  body  as  that  white  mystery  in  the  cloister,  it  is 
as  well  I  have  not  crossed  her  path  a-nutting  in  the  forest." 

"  You  put  light  in  my  heart  at  that  saying,  Diarmod,  for 
I  saw  the  thought  of  you.  But  there  are  women  always 
for  you ;  women  a-plenty." 

"  Of  a  sort,"  said  Diarmod,  who  had  to  wife  Maelmor  na 
Tuathal,  sister  of  Laurance  the  saintly,  and  a  queen-woman 

[164] 


DERVAILiJlNANCIAR 


in  her  own  way,  and  a  pious,  of  a  sort,  "  but  white  birds 
with  reaching  wings  do  not  wait  on  every  road  for  a  man." 

Donough  O'Carroll  went  to  his  rest  with  content  that 
night,  and  unburdened  the  cares  of  the  day  to  Maureen, 
his  wife. 

"Get  the  maid,  Dervail,  on  the  road  to  sanctuary  of 
Cluain-mac-noise  in  the  dawn  of  tomorrow,"  he  said.  "Our 
shelter  has  not  kept  her  name  from  the  ear  of  the  king. 
Strange  happenings  have  been,  and  curious  portents.  She 
is  not  one  to  win  friend  for  any  king  of  Erinn." 

"  In  truth  she  is  the  fairest  thing  in  all  your  province, 
Donough,  my  heart,"  said  Maureen,  "  but,  like  a  bird,  she 
is  —  untamed." 

"  Do  not  make  that  saying  of  her  to  me,"  said  Donough, 
"  or  sleep  could  not  come  to  my  bed  this  night.  Too  much 
I  have  heard  this  day  of  bird-women,  both  doves  and  fal 
cons,  and  I  would  that  the  maid  was  ugly  as  a  mud-hen 
among  the  bogs.  Woman,  let  me  have  sleep,  and  pray 
that  Saint  Brighde  speeds  her  in  safety  on  the  road  from 
us  tomorrow.  If  she  is  in  truth  of  the  blood  of  Murtagh  of 
Machflain,  King  of  Meath,  the  time  has  come  for  his  claim 
of  her.  The  mystery  of  her  is  abroad  on  the  winds,  and 
the  very  name  of  her  sounds  temptation  to  Diarmod ! " 


.; : ; 


XT  was  in  the  mist  of  the  gray  dawn  when  Ardan 
crept  like  a  thief  down  the  turret  stairs,  and  to  the 
castle  wall  on  which  the  grianan  of  the  queen  gave 
entrance.    The  door  of  it  opened  from  within,  and  to  meet 
him  came  the  maid  called  by  Maureen  the  fairest  in  all 
the  kingdom  of  Orielle. 

[165] 


DERVAlT  tt'lNANCIAR 


Like  forest  pools  were  her  eyes  —  gray  with  a  glint  of 
blue ;  her  mouth  was  the  rose  for  beauty,  and  her  hair  held 
the  warm  flame  of  red  gold ;  heavy  it  fell  either  side  of  her 
face  and  reached  below  her  girdle.  A  cloak  of  royal  blue 
touched  the  stone  floor,  and  a  veil  of  silvery  gray  broidered 
with  blue  was  held  by  the  wire-spun  circlet  of  gold  about 
her  head.  The  falling  of  that  silvery  veil  gave  her  a  strange 
mystical  look  to  Ardan,  and  the  dignity  of  the  cloak  hid 
every  maidenly  curve  of  her  young  body. 

"Argatonel,"  spoke  Ardan  as  he  stood  staring  at  the 
beauty  of  her,  "'Silver  Cloud*  in  truth  you  are,  Dervail; 
and  you  look  as  if  you  had  slept  in  a  fairy's  rath  and  woke 
changed  and  not  young  any  more." 

"Sleep  I  did  not  at  all  —  for  the  doom  of  going  away 
was  put  on  me  ere  the  turn  of  the  night.  That  was  the 
time  I  sent  the  maid  Kauth  to  seek  you.  The  castle  of  the 
holy  women  at  Cluain-mac-noise  is  to  be  my  prison.  Some 
sudden  thing  has  stung  the  prior,  Duighal,  and  his  monks 
are  to  be  my  guard  to  sanctuary.  It  will  be  my  grave  they 
take  me  to!" 

"  I  am  to  blame  —  to  blame ! "  said  Ardan.  "  I,  too,  must 
go  a  road  this  day,  but  it  is  to  the  Culdees  of  Saint  Hilary. 
For  my  fault  I  am  to  study  in  a  new  place  and  among 
strange  scholars." 

"  Why  are  you  to  blame?    You  that  were  my  comrade? " 

"It  is  forbidden  that  I  tell  you  all,  or  think  of  it  —  but 
I  made  an  image  of  snow  like  a  white  bird  that  yet  was  a 
maiden.  I  thought  of  you  and  made  it  all  of  whiteness, 
but  like  you,  too,  in  beauty.  It  was  in  the  cloister. 
Duighal  the  prior  says  it  is  an  evil  thing  to  image  any  but 
sainted  women,  and  a  penance  is  put  on  me  that  I  go." 

"But  you  —  you  have  no  unhappy  heart  at  that  going," 
said  Dervail,  and  sighed  as  she  looked  at  him.  "  You  will 
walk  free  to  make  other  beautiful  things  in  other  places." 

[166] 


DERVAIL  MNANCIAR 


"  I  will  remember  you  in  the  far  places,  and  the  beauty 
I  make  will  be  thoughts  of  you." 

Dervail  smiled  on  him  with  closed  lips  and  eyes  peering 
sideways  through  the  silver  veil.  The  veil  made  a  new 
mystery  of  her  face. 

"  Argatonel,"  he  said  again,  and  was  thinking  of  a  rhyme 
for  it  to  make  a  poem  as  a  farewell  gift,  "  Argatonel ! " 

"  You  do  not  love  me,  Ardan,"  she  said ;  "  you  only  love 
beauty." 

"  But  you  are  that  beauty." 

"  You  do  not  love  me ;  you  do  not  know  I  am  alive !  You 
look  at  me  as  on  a  saint,  high  on  the  church  wall.  I  would 
rather  dance  free  with  the  Ever  Young  People  in  the 
Hidden  Hills!" 

He  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  Cormac  had  said  hell 
waited  for  people  of  pagan  thoughts,  and  Cormac  had  a 
soul  of  good  intent. 

"  You  are  my  best  comrade,  and  as  my  sister,"  he  said ; 
"my  grief  is  much  that  you  go  unwilling  —  I  would  that 
you  went  not  out  from  here  until  a  marriage  feast  gave 
you  to  some  righteous  king.  You  look  like  a  queen  with 
that  cloak  and  the  veil  of  the  silver  cloud." 

She  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 

"I  said  you  did  not  love  me,  and  I  said  true;  you  are 
almost  of  my  age,  yet  you  would  pick  a  king  out  of  the 
world  for  me!  I  steal  ere  the  dawn  to  seek  farewell  of  a 
poet,  and  his  only  seeking  is  a  rhyme  for  my  name  —  not 
to  be  found !  " 

"But  I  have  found  it!"  he  cried  in  triumph.  "I  will 
write  it  for  you  ere  the  troop  leaves  the  portal.  I  will  sing 
it  in  the  lonely  west  where  I  go  for  scholarship.  Dervail, 
what  other  thing  could  I  do  to  show  my  thoughts  and  my 
heart  to  you?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  It  is  a  boy  you  are,  and  my  thoughts 

£167] 


DERVAILlHlNANCIAR 


are  of  a  man's  thoughts.  Look :  I  am  cloaked  and  shod  for 
travel;  there  are  swift  steeds  below,  and  there  are  boats 
at  the  sea's  marge.  Beyond  where  the  low  sky  takes  the 
silver  of  morning,  there  is  another  land.  Had  I  the  strength 
of  a  man  beside  me,  it  is  there  I  would  go." 

"With  the  troops  of  two  kings  of  power  to  claim  you 
for  the  church?  Who  would  dare  give  shelter  to  you  in 
such  flight?" 

"Two  kings? "  she  asked,  puzzled  and  frowning. 

"  Diarmod  of  Leinster  is  guest  of  King  Donough." 

She  laughed  again. 

"  So :  that  is  why  I  have  been  kept  to  the  grianan  of  ffie 
queen  for  three  days !  It  has  been  so  always  when  guests 
of  might  are  housed  here.  What  crooked  stick  of  the 
forest  am  I  that  no  prince  or  king  must  look  my  way  ?  " 

"The  fairest  things  of  earth  are  God's  offerings,  Der- 
vail,"  he  said.  "I  think  of  you  as  abbess  of  some  white 
sisterhood  of  Mary.  On  some  day  of  days  I  will  surely 
see  you  so,  and  kneel  for  your  blessing.  You  will  be  ever 
the  white  bird  and  the  silver  cloud  to  me." 

"  That  makes  the  cold  stone  no  softer  a  pillow,"  she  said. 
"You  live  in  dreams  —  sometimes  you  have  made  me  see 
the  dreams,  but  this  no  dream  today.  They  take  me  for 
other  prison  and  call  it  serving  God ! " 

A  clink  of  metal  on  stone  sounded  above  them  where  the 
flying  buttress  carried  a  windowed  room  as  a  canopy  above 
where  they  stood. 

Dervail  sped  quickly  back  out  of  sight,  but  Ardan 
stepped  further  out  to  look  above.  What  he  saw  there 
was  Diarmod  of  Leinster  with  his  finger  on  his  lip.  Horse 
men  clattered  through  the  castle  gate,  and  Ardan  looked 
down  at  them  from  the  edge  of  the  wall. 

"  The  castle  is  awake,  and  there  is  no  other  moment  for 
speech,"  he  said.  "  My  heart  goes  with  you  on  the  road, 

[168] 


DERVAILJl^NANClAfc 


comrade  maid  of  mine.    May  that  road  lead  you  to  peace ! " 

She  stood  looking  at  him  moodily  while  he  lifted  the 
hem  of  her  cloak  to  his  lips. 

"  Almost  I  see  you  here  a  queen  in  the  queen's  grianan," 
he  said.  "  You  look  it  in  that  robe  you  wear.  Have  you 
no  farewell  to  me,  Dervail?" 

"  For  that  I  came,  Ardan,  and  may  it  be  so  to  you !  I 
would  you  could  teach  me  the  content  of  dreams  —  my 
dreams  lack  content.  Farewell,  comrade!  In  the  gray 
days  I  will  think  often  of  the  white  bird  by  which  we  are 
exiled.  Fare  you  well,  Ardan!  Go  you  the  way  of  your 
white  dreams ! " 

There  was  a  weariness  in  the  sweet  voice.  So  few  days 
before  she  had  run  races  and  tossed  the  ball  in  the  games, 
but  the  Dervail  in  the  silver  veil  at  the  dawn  was  a  differ 
ent  maid. 

The  veil  — the  silver  cloud  —  Argatonel !  — in  a  moment 
more  he  had  out  the  inkhorn  and  quill  and  was  tracing  on 
the  smooth  stone  the  first  words  of  the  rhyme  singing  in 
his  ears  —  he  had  promised  her  a  verse  of  farewell. 

The  sun  has  set  at  morningtide, 

Argatonel ! 
The  wall  between  is  high  and  wide, 

Argatonel  ! 
Above  it  stars  of  heaven  may  rise 

In  witchery, 
But  none  so  bright  — 

The  rhythm  of  it  sang  itself,  and  he  was  glowing  with 
eagerness  when  he  became  suddenly  conscious  of  someone 
near,  and  turned  to  find  Diarmod  smiling  at  him  in  great 
good  humor. 

"  I  had  joy  of  my  eavesdropping,  though  I  could  get  no 
glimpse  of  her  face,"  he  said.  "  Anyone  seeing  your  tryst 
might  have  had  his  doubts,  but  I'll  go  your  warrant  to  any 

[169] 


DFRVAlLli^lNAN  OAR 


father  alive  who  has  sweet-voiced  daughters  in  want  of  a 
playmate." 

Ardan  bent  knee  to  him,  and  thus  turned  from  the  words, 
roughly  noted  in  ink,  still  wet.  Little  escaped  the  eye  of 
Leinster,  and  a  step  took  him  beside  it. 

"What's  to  do  here?  'The  sun  has  set  at  morningtide.' 
That  is  against  nature.  How  could  that  be?" 

"  My  King,  I  cannot  make  you  see  it  when  you  did  not 
see  her  face  —  and  she  goes  at  morningtide." 

"  So,  that  is  it !  My  grief,  to  hearken  to  a  tryst  with  a 
lad  when  it  was  the  strength  of  a  man  she  gave  call  for! 
And  this  — Argatonel?" 

"  It  is  the  silver  cloud  of  the  veil  she  wore  —  the  veil  by 
which  she  was  hidden  from  you  above." 

"  Very  good  —  it  looked,  indeed,  a  veil  of  silver  over  hair 
of  gold.  Go  on  —  finish  your  lines.  Here  is  a  scrap  of 
vellum  of  no  import;  write  it  across  that.  Your  craft  is 
curious,  and  has  interest  to  me.  You  shall  write  love- 
poems  for  my  daughters.  Go  on !  '  But  none  so  bright  — ' ' 

And  Ardan,  encouraged  by  the  king's  mood,  plodded 
placidly  on. 

But  none  so  bright  as  are  your  eyes 

Of  mystery. 

Argatonel,  white  wings  to  you! 
Argatonel,  deep  heart  to  you! 
O  Silver  Cloud,  that  wraps  the  world, 

God's  Sun  to  you  ! 

He  finished  writing  and  read  it  aloud,  and  the  eyes  of 
the  king  were  on  him  curiously. 

"That,  and  a  maiden  tryst  at  dawn,  and  you  fasting!" 
he  said.  "  What  works  then  might  you  not  do  with  good 
meat  under  your  ribs?  I've  a  mind  to  take  you  with  me, 
if  only  to  feed  you,  and  watch  your  growth.  Come !  We'll 
talk  of  it  and  eat.  Clean  white  vellum  shall  be  yours  for 

[170] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR. 


your  love-lines,  though  the  maid  read  you  true,  my  young 
cock-robin!  You  had  no  heart-love  to  give  your  Arga- 
tonel ;  your  only  seeking  was  some  fair  thing  to  sing  about." 


it  was  the  friendship  began  between  Diarmod 
the  king,  and  Ardan,  the  fosterling  of  King  Donough 
of  Orielle,  and  thus  it  was  that  they  went  out 
together  at  sound  of  the  gathering  guard  in  the  castle 
yard  that  morning,  and  from  the  shadow  of  the  portal 
Diarmod  looked  on  the  unveiled  face  of  Dervail. 

The  rising  sun  touched  her  hair  to  a  glory,  where  it 
fell  in  braids  to  the  saddle  cushion.  The  deep  pools  of 
her  eyes  held  shadows,  and  the  black  lashes  were  wet 
against  her  rosebloom  cheek,  yet  the  head  of  the  silver 
veil  was  not  humbled,  and  her  chin  was  lifted  in  pride  as 
she  looked  about  her  on  the  household  back  of  the  spear 
men,  and  her  maid,  and  the  page  holding  her  restless 
steed  as  it  pawed  the  earth,  and  grew  restless  under  the 
tinkling  sweetness  of  its  bridle  bells. 

"  Truly  you  said  it,  Ardan ;  she  is  the  sun  at  morning- 
tide,"  said  Diarmod  the  king;  but  when  Ardan  attempted 
speech  in  reply  he  was  silenced  lest  a  note  of  the  music  of 
her  voice  be  lost. 

"Think  of  me  as  Regina  in  that  new  life,"  she  said  to 
Queen  Maureen  at  the  farewell.  "  I  wear  the  blue  mantle 
that  Mary  the  Mother  may  see  I  serve  her  in  a  royal  way. 
The  gray  of  life  has  no  liking  for  me,  and  to  the  last  I 
will  wear  colors  of  the  deep  sea,  and  the  sky." 

"What  a  queen  can  do  will  be  done  that  no  gray  robe 
is  yours  until  the  day  you  make  choice  of  it,"  said  Maureen 

[171] 


DERVAIL  MHI NAN  CIAR 


in  kindness.  "  A  writing  to  that  end  goes  with  you  to  the 
holy  women." 

"  All  have  spoke  a  farewell  but  yourself,  King  Donough 
of  Orielle,"  said  the  girl  Dervail,  with  proud  coldness  in 
her  voice.  "  I  give  thanks  to  you  for  years  of  sanctuary. 
Am  I  to  have  no  host's  gift  of  the  stirrup  cup  at  my 
going?" 

"A  white  road,  and  a  white  welcome  to  you,"  said 
Donough,  whose  tongue  was  stiff  with  fear  that  she  go  not 
quickly  enough.  The  wind  of  the  morning  had  caught 
the  silver  cloud  of  her  veil,  and  swept  it  back  over  the 
golden  circlet ;  she  looked  a  girl  queen  beyond  all  queenly 
beauty,  and  too  fair  for  the  men  of  Leinster  to  view. 

Donough  waved  forward  the  bearer  of  the  cup  and  the 
wine,  and  lifted  his  hand  to  pour  the  draught,  but  Diarmod, 
who  stood  in  the  portal  with  Ardan,  came  forward,  and 
the  hand  of  Diarmod  was  before  that  of  Donough. 

"That  the  right  may  be  my  right,"  he  said  and  filled 

the  cup. 

The  servitor  dropped  to  one  knee,  and  the  King  and 
Queen  of  Orielle  bowed  low,  and  Dervail  saw  them,  for 
the  first  time,  stand  aside  for  another  man  in  their  own 
castle  keep. 

The  wonder  of  it  filled  her,  and  her  lips  opened  for  ques 
tion,  but  Diarmod  stood  at  her  stirrup.  He  gave  to  her 
the  verse  of  Ardan  and  lifted  the  cup,  and  when  their  eyes 
met  she  forgot  that  a  king  and  his  household  bent  low 
while  only  one  man  stood. 

"  Will  you  not  kiss  the  cup? "  he  asked.  "  It  is  my  grief 
that  it  is  the  farewell,  and  not  the  welcoming." 

With  both  hands  she  reached  for  the  cup,  with  both 
hands  he  held  it  up,  but  their  eyes  never  parted.  Their 
look  was  a  long,  strange  look,  and  the  smile  was  gone 
from  her  face. 

[172] 


DERVAILMNANCIAR 


"  I  speak  thanks  to  you,  O  my  lord,"  she  said,  "  and  the 
cup  of  parting  will  be  remembered  by  me." 

The  prior  rode  through  the  portal  with  six  stalwart 
monks  at  his  heels. 

"  I  go  north  for  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  Phadraig," 
he  said,  "  and  we  will  add  guard  to  the  new  nun  for  Cluain- 
mac-noise. 

He  did  not  look  at  her  at  all,  and  his  speech  was  to 
Donough  O'Carroll. 

Diarmod  turned  darkly  on  the  cold-faced  prior. 

"Six  of  my  own  men  will  ride  with  you  as  far  as  the 
Shannon,"  he  said.  "  They  are  the  best  of  my  horsemen, 
holy  father,  and  will  bear  to  the  abbott  a  message.  A  gift 
will  go  to  the  abbess  as  a  dower  for  the  Lady  Regina,  for 
such  is  her  new  name  in  religion.  This  on  the  word  of 
Leinster." 

The  prior  stared  at  him,  and  bent  head  in  brief  courtesy. 
Never  before  had  Leinster  dowered  maids,  except  they,  in 
one  way  or  another,  were  among  his  possessions. 

But  Diarmod,  with  full  knowledge  of  the  sharp  ears  and 
keen  dark  thoughts  about  him,  followed  his  mood  because 
of  the  red  mouth  of  Dervail,  and  her  trancelike  gaze.  He 
slipped  a  ring  of  gold  from  his  hand  and  put  it  on  hers. 

"  This  my  gauge  of  the  promise,"  he  said.  "  Let  it  go 
with  the  dower.  In  sanctuary  pray  for  Diarmod  of 
Leinster." 

"  Diarmod ! "  and  her  voice  was  a  whisper  of  wonder, 
but  her  face  held  liking,  and  swift  joy,  and  hope.  It  was 
plain  to  see  that  cold  sanctuary  was  none  of  her  choosing. 
"Diarmod,  O  some  time  Ard-Ri  of  Erinn!" 

Fire  of  pride  flamed  in  his  eyes  at  her  words.  She  had 
voiced  his  secret  hope  that  the  cloak  of  Leinster  like  the 
mantle  of  Brighde's  legend  might  gain  magic  growth  to 
cover  all  the  land. 

[173] 


DERVAIL  tMtNAN  ClAR 


"The  prayer  of  you  for  that  day,  O  Regina,"  he  said, 
and  lifted  the  cup  to  drain  the  leavings  of  her  draught. 
"  By  the  Elements,  I  wish  for  you  all  you  seek  in  life ! " 
The  emptied  cup  of  silver  he  put  in  the  hand  of  Kauth 
and  stepped  a  pace  aside  as  Duighal  the  prior  spurred  his 
steed  forward,  and  spoke  to  Dervail  without  glance  of  the 
eye.  He  had  known  Dyveke,  her  mother,  in  her  day  of 
beauty,  and  had  seen  the  christening  of  the  wolfs  whelp 
—  also  he  knew  the  moods  and  loves  of  Diarmod  of 
Leinster.  Kindling  for  the  pit  of  hell  were  both  of  them ! 

"Veil  your  face  from  the  eyes  of  man,  girl,  and  ride 
forward  with  your  maid,"  he  said. 

Dervail  lifted  her  hand  to  the  veil,  but  lifted  proudly 
her  head  as  well,  and  cast  one  slow  look  over  the  awed 
group.  Between  the  church  and  the  king  none  dared  speak, 
and  Maureen  grasped  the  arm  of  Donough  in  fear. 

The  eyes  of  Dervail  rested  last  on  Leinster  and  her  eyes 
spoke  for  her  as  she  drew  the  veil  and  shrouded  the  beauty 
of  her  face. 

Two  by  two  the  riders  passed  the  outer  portal,  and  yet 
Diarmod  stood,  stroking  his  beard,  and  staring  after  the 
blue  cloak  and  the  shrouding  veil. 


is   yOUr  wil1  f°r  thc   day'S  hunt?"   asked 
Donough  at  last,  and  Leinster  swung  on  him  as 

if  to  find  vent  to  his  humor. 

"  What  joy  in  the  hunting  of  deer  when  Paradise  opens 
portals  a  man  may  not  enter?"  he  demanded.  "You 
played  well  to  get  my  promise  before  my  eyes  had  looked 
on  her!  You  played  well,  Donough!" 

[174] 


"  But  the  promise  was  a  good  one,  and  you  will  live  to 
give  thanks  for  the  making  of  it." 

"It  will  not  be  this  day  you  will  hear  such  thanks," 
spoke  Diarmod  shortly.  "The  beauty  of  her  is  beyond 
belief,  and  it  is  not  her  beauty  alone !  There  is  something 
—  something  — " 

"True,  there  is,"  said  Donough,  "there  is  the  beauty 
of  Dyveke,  her  mother,  but  she  is  stronger  than  Dyveke, 
for  she  has  the  charm  of  the  man  named  The  Dark, 
because  he  was  made  Nameless,  and  those  that  were  loving 
him  could  never  see  charm  in  another  man.  My  sister, 
Ethnea,  was  one.  Her  life  wore  itself  out  making  prayers 
because  he  died  unshriven,  and  there  is  Kieran  Ball, 
devoted  even  to  vengeance  if  need  be ! " 

"  Oh,  you  make  it  strong,  and  I  have  given  my  word," 
said  Diarmod,  "but  it  is  well  it  was  you  and  the  church 
I  promised.  Had  it  been  one  man  claiming  her  —  Murtagh 
of  Meath  or  am;  man  —  I  would  be  gathering  a  troop  now 
to  bear  her  back,  and  the  monks  with  their  prophecies 
might  carry  their  runes  to  hell." 


years  Ardan  lived  between  the  castle  of  Diarmod 
and  the  Culdees  of  Saint  Hilary's  cloisters,  and  then, 
with  Diarmod's  sanction  and  help,  he  joined  a  group 
of  pilgrims  for  Tours,  and  thence  on  to  see  the  glories  of 
Rome. 

Five  years  of  books  and  songs  and  travel  he  had,  but 
ever  close  was  the  craft  of  carving,  and  Diarmod's  attempt 
to  make  him  a  bard,  and  a  bard  only,  had  not  been  a 
success. 

[175] 


DERVAIL  HUNAN  GAR 


"  Let  me  work  out  my  poems  in  stone  if  I  can  find  them 
that  way,"  he  said.  "Some  need  a  pen,  some  need  a 
brush  and  color  for  the  telling,  and  surely  the  stone  has 
its  own  hymns  —  and  it  endures." 

"It  is  not  a  bad  thought,"  agreed  Diarmod.  "If  the 
ancient  books  had  been  carved  of  stone  tablets  the  Dane 
raiders  would  not  have  carried  away  so  many  of  the 
treasures.  And  in  our  own  day  O'Ruarc  of  Breffni 
is  laying  tribute  on  many  an  abbey  of  the  north.  The 
Culdees  had  best  save  their  parchment  and  use  the 
chisel." 

"  I  saw  him  when  I  was  a  child  at  the  ford,  O'Ruarc," 
said  Ardan,  "  and  had  bad  dreams.  He  had  only  one  eye, 
and  an  evil  look.  The  monks  told  tales  of  him,  but  they 
say  his  castle  at  Lough  Gilla  has  the  riches  of  an  em 
peror." 

"Well  may  be!  His  men  hold  the  fords  of  the  north 
for  heavy  toll,  and  his  robbings  give  him  jewels  enough  to 
cover  the  many  women  he  steals." 

"As  I  mind  him,  he  would  get  them  no  other  way  — 
none  would  go  to  Lough  Gilla  for  love  of  him." 

"Aye!  But  he  has  his  ruler,  strong  as  he  is,"  said  a 
monk  of  the  north.  "  I  heard  of  her  in  Armagh  from  a 
wandering  bard  who  boasted  that  he  traveled  north  in 
poverty,  but  by  her  grace  he  wanted  for  naught  on  his  way 
back.  Some  message  was  his  to  bear  for  her,  and  he  was 
fair  delighted  by  the  rare  beauty  of  her.  Songs  he  was 
making  of  her  milk  skin,  and  her  gold  of  hair,  until  men 
fell  in  love  to  listen." 

"Where  found  Breffni  such  pleasing  treasure?"  asked 
Diarmod. 

"  I  know  not  —  God  knows !  There  are  tales  told.  One 
is  that  a  boat  of  the  Danes  was  wrecked  on  the  north 
coast,  and  she  was  of  that  wreckage.  Another  is  that  he 

£176] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  GAR. 


got  her  when  he  sacked  the  abbey  of  Clonard,  and  the  new 
house  of  the  nuns  there.  That  may  be.  Her  name  is 
Regina,  and  that  is  no  name  of  a  Danish  maid  —  it  is 
Christian  name  for  a  queen." 

"Regina!" 

Diarmod  whispered  the  name  under  his  breath  and 
stared  at  the  guest  of  the  north,  but  Ardan  cried  out  in 
horror  of  the  heart,  and  turned  to  Diarmod. 

"  My  comrade  maid,  the  white-winged  one  of  sanctuary ! 
Is  there  word  from  King  Donough  as  to  that?" 

"  There  is  no  word,"  and  the  face  of  Diarmod  had 
brooding  blackness  on  it.  "  To  me  he  would  not  be  send 
ing  that  word.  He  would  go  first  to  Murtagh  of  Meath, 
and  abide  by  his  word,  and  the  word  of  Duighal  the 
prior.  There  is  no  love  in  their  hearts  for  Breffni.  It  may 
be  they  care  not  for  her  taking,  if  she  is  taken  far  enough 
north  —  and  the  mountains  and  the  bogs  between!" 


(FTER  that,  Diarmod  said  no  more,  but  left  guests 
and  tale  tellers  and  singers  to  have  their  own  cheer 
of    the    night  —  and    went    to    his    own    chamber. 
There  he  sent  for  Ardan. 

"  You  have  art  enough  to  pass  for  a  wandering  singer, 
a  cunning  worker  in  gold,  or  a  carver  of  stone,"  he  said. 
"  O'Ruarc  adds  to  his  craftsmen  as  he  can,  to  change  treas 
ures  of  the  abbeys  into  gauds  for  his  women.  Go  you 
north  into  Breffni,  and  learn  the  truth  of  it.  Here  is  gold 
for  your  faring.  Guard  your  own  life  for  me,  but  venture 
all  else  to  bring  me  word." 

"And  if  Donough  is  on  their  track?" 

[177] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR 


"No  word  to  Donough  of  this  matter!  If  she  is  safe 
again  in  his  castle,  or  safe  in  the  convent,  come  you  back 
to  me  in  silence.  If  the  tale  be  true,  find  her  and  bring  me 
word  of  her  need." 


O  it  happened  that  Ardan  had  crossed  the  Shannon 
at  Ath-Luin  when  the  wandering  bard  from  the 
north  found  the  way  to  the  castle  of  Diarmod,  and 
craving  audience,  knelt  and  offered  a  ring. 


from  her  who  calls  herself  Regina,"  he  said. 
"  The  dower  given  to  the  convent  for  her  has  gone 
to  Lough  Gilla  Castle  with  many  other  things.  The 
ring  of  the  south  should  not  be  among  the  plunder  of  the 
enemy,  and  for  that  reason  it  is  sent  back." 

"Is  that  the  only  word?" 

"All  that  was  given  me." 

"Is  she  —  in  prison?" 

"  She  is  the  wife  of  Tiernan  O'Ruarc,  King  of  Breffni ; 
she  rules  all  within  the  castle  by  his  love  of  her." 

"He  Has  then  taken  a  nun  to  wife  against  all  rule  of 
Rome?  Has  there  been  naught  of  protest  from  King 
Murtaghof  Meath?" 

"Nay,  O  Diarmod,  no  vows  had  been  laid  upon  her. 
She  was  free  to  be  sought  in  marriage  to  any  man,  and 
O'Ruarc  was  the  man." 

[178] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR 


That  rankling  thought  was  not  good  company  for  the 
man  who  had  let  her  ride  out  from  O'Carroll's  castle 
into  the  new  prison,  and  the  man  who  got  her  was  his 
enemy ! 


days  Diarmod  fumed  over  the  thought,  and  then 
rode  with  his  spearmen  and  bowmen  to  council  with 
King  Donough. 

*  Is  it  in  silence  the  men  of  Meath  and  men  of  Orielle 
let  the  plunderer  from  Lough  Gilla  strip  the  holy  churches 
and  carry  away  the  cloistered  women?"  he  asked.  And 
Donough  walked  with  him  apart  that  Queen  Maureen 
might  not  hear. 

"As  to  Clonard  Abbey,  it  is  true,  and  we  should  stand 
against  this,  and  send  a  spokesman  to  O'Ruarc ;  but  as  to 
women  there  was  only  one,  and  that  one  is  his  wife.  There 
is  no  profit  in  going  against  that.  She  is  Queen  of  Breffni 
and  content  enough.  Since  it  is  so,  what  call  for  speech 
of  it  among  the  people?  It  is  well  her  own  name  is  lost 
from  her  in  those  changes.  To  ride  to  her  rescue  would 
but  bring  her  back  for  other  princes  to  fight  for.  She  is 
too  fair  for  peace  to  be  her  dower  in  any  land.  Let  that 
hawk  of  the  north  keep  her  safe  at  his  own  nest." 

"  She  has  brought  him  lucky  fortune,  since  he  sweeps  all 
of  church  wealths  into  his  chests  and  goes  scatheless,  and 
it  was  a  different  prophecy  of  her  told  by  Kieran  Dall." 

"  We  are  born,  but  not  dead  yet,"  said  Donough,  "  and  it 
is  ill  profit  to  think  of  her  now  — and  her  a  strong  kind's 
wife." 

"  Yet  I  am  thinking  of  her,  O'Carroll,  and  the  promise 

C179] 


DERVAIL  f*a  NAN  OAR 


holds  me  no  more.  From  your  castle  I  would  not  take 
her,  nor  from  the  church,  but  she  is  with  neither.  She  and 
the  other  stolen  things  are  now  free  to  who  can  take  them." 

"  No  man  will  fight  for  her  when  her  name  is  known, 
and  Turlough  O'Conor  will  not  be  the  man  to  let  Breffni 
be  robbed  of  a  covenanted  woman.  Murtagh  of  Meath 
knows  it,  and  cares  not  how  soon  she  brings  ruin  to 
O'Ruarc  —  if  bring  it  she  does  —  he  is  not  of  the  line 
forbidden  to  her  blood." 

Diarmod  glowered  darkly  and  showed  contempt. 

"  The  short  sight  was  on  me  when  I  let  her  ride  away, 
and  foolish  was  the  tale  of  Kieran  Dall.  Strong  houses 
have  ere  this  taken  mates  from  the  Lochlannach.  Why 
should  a  ban,  forgotten  for  a  thousand  years,  be  uncovered 
for  her  house  or  for  mine?  My  own  thought  is  that  her 
dower  was  the  dower  of  a  king's  daughter,  and  a  gain  for 
any  holy  group  of  the  veil.  Without  doubt  she  was  a 
chance  child  of  Murtagh  of  Meath,  and  the  tale  of  Kieran 
Dall  was  made  to  fit.  I  have  had  no  other  word  concerning 
Cuan  the  Dark;  it  is  some  old  world  tale  of  druid  power." 

"If  ban,  or  banishment  and  un-naming  is  pronounced 
in  secret  against  a  man,  it  is  more  than  death  against  him, 
Diarmod.  There  is  no  record  left  that  he  was  ever  living. 
The  father  of  Dyveke  had  youth  with  him  — he  was  the 
firstling  of  a  devout  house,  and  was  meant  for  holy  life  — 
there  may  be  many  who  think  he  is  living  out  his  years 
in  work  and  prayer  among  foreign  pagans.  As  a  man  he 
has  left  no  name  and  no  record.  Now  that  O'Ruarc  has 
the  maid,  and  caused  question  of  the  source  of  the  dowry, 
there  is  but  one  thing  to  do  in  the  house  of  Machflain.  She 
is  called  ward  of  the  King  of  Meath,  and  daughter  as 
well.  It  is  a  rich  cloak  to  cover  her  white  shoulders 
and  cover  a  buried  and  bitter  scandal  for  the  house 
of  the  man  called  '  The  Dark.*  It  will  never  be  safe  to 

[180] 


DERVAIL^NANCIAR 


lift  that  cloak,  Diarmod ;  too  many  pious  hands  have  helped 
weave  it,  and  work  over  each  rough  seam  with  careful 
broiderings.  Hidden  forever  now  is  father  or  mother  of 
hers.  She  is  no  longer  Dervail  of  the  Shadow;  she  is 
daughter  of  Murtagh  Machflain,  King  of  Meath,  and  is 
wife  to  Tiernan,  Prince  of  Breffni.  The  whole  of  Erinn 
is  between  your  shore  and  hers,  and  no  cause  for  your 
thoughts  to  cross  over." 

"  Yet  are  they  crossing  over,"  said  Diarmod,  and  looked 
at  a  ring  of  gold.  "  There  is  no  joy  for  her  there  in  Breffni, 
and  her  own  thoughts  are  crossing  the  wide  land." 


OONOUGH  O'CARROLL  was  not  easy  in  his  mind 
after  that  speech.  He  had  remembrance  of  the 
words  of  Malachi,  son  of  Murtagh  of  Meath.  He 
also  was  afire  because  of  her  beauty,  and  the  little  love 
he  had  for  Tiernan  O'Ruarc.  He  also  could  see  no  reason 
why  the  maid,  and  her  dowry  as  well,  should  go  to  a 
prince  so  well  hated.  For  the  truth  of  her  was  not  told  by 
Murtagh  of  Meath  to  any  of  his  household.  Duighal  and 
certain  monks  knew  it,  and  among  them  they  hoped  to 
hide  the  fact  that  the  child  of  Dyveke  lived  though  she 
should  have  died.  Some  fear  of  Dyveke's  curse  was  on 
Murtagh,  and  for  that  reason  the  maid  was  dowered  for 
sanctity  as  had  been  his  own  daughter,  with  little  thought 
that  his  enemy  of  the  north  would  sweep  hawklike  on 
Clonard  and  bear  away  the  troublous  maid  with  all  her 
mysterious  wealth. 

"  Hark  to  me,  Diarmod,"  said  O'Carroll  in  all  kindness. 
"  Murtagh  Machflain  is  well  pleased  that  she  is  taken  to 
the  far  end  of  Erinn  by  a  man  —  any  man  —  strong  enough 

[181] 


to  hold  her  there!  You  are  not  the  only  man  she  makes 
restless  by  a  look,  or  a  word,  or  it  may  be  a  pledge !  If  it 
is  adventure  you  hunger  for,  forget  her  beauty  and  seek 
victories  in  the  west  where  the  men  of  O'Brian  are  ever 
snapping  like  wolves  across  borders  of  Connaught  or  Lein- 
ster;  I  am  with  you  to  join  shields  with  Turlough  O'Conor 
against  them  at  any  dawn  you  name  to  set  forth.  Make 
yourself  strong  with  allies  ere  you  venture  a  hosting  into 
Breffni.  With  care  you  can  be  chief  king  of  Leith  Mogh." 
"You  have  the  King  of  Meath  and  all  the  bishops  on 
your  side,'*  agreed  Diarmod  of  Leinster,  "yet  if  I  was  a 
wifeless  man,  I  would  make  her  a  queen  of  more  than 
Breffni.  Tiernan  of  Breffni  will  yet  pay  with  his  life  for 
having  her  before  me!" 


+4 


OIARMOD  had  never  forgotten  her  words  of  admir 
ing  when  she  greeted  him  as  "  Ard-Ri  of  Erinn."  It 
was  but  a  tiny  seed  let  fall  from  her  rose-leaf  lips, 
yet  had  it  grown  in  his  mind,  nourished  by  the  records  and 
legends  of  his  own  royal  line  until  he  saw  no  head  of  Erinn 
more  fit  for  crowning !  This  was  a  dear  secret  thought  of 
his,  spoken  of  to  none,  yet  when  he  heard  Turlough 
O'Conor  called  "  King  with  opposition  "  there  came  flash 
ing  back  to  him  the  music  of  her  words,  and  with  them  a 
long  look  ahead  to  the  days  when  Turlough  was  gone !  To 
be  chief  king  of  Leith  Mogh  — all  southern  Erinn— -would 
seem  to  Donough  a  natural  ambition.  But  to  dream  of  the 
crown  of  High  King  over  all  would  put  fear  in  the  mind 
of  every  friend  who  was  loyal  to  Leinster.  No  thought  of 
it  had  come  to  any  heart  but  his  own  —  and  hers ! 

[182] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  OAR 


That  was  the  hold  she  had  over  his  dreams;  she  had 
voiced  the  secret  thing  much  desired.  And  in  his  dreams 
she  became  a  part  of  that  which  was  desired  —  the  beau 
tiful  part! 


SET  Diarmod  of  Leinster  did  consider  the  words  of 
King  Donough,  and  did  join  shields  with  Turlough 
against  the  men  of  O'Brian  to  the  west,  and  did 
make  himself  allies  for  the  days  when  need  would  be  his, 
for  that  was  his  way.    The  strong  family  of  Mor,  his  wife, 
he  had  in  bonds  to  him,  and  strong  churchmen  he  had; 
if  ever  he  ventured  to  follow  his  dream  he  meant  to  have 
help  of  Rome  through  princely  clerics. 

He  took  credit  to  himself  for  joining  shields  to  Tur 
lough  the  king  at  that  time.  His  mind  was  to  go  north,  but 
the  counsel  of  Donough  brought  him  thought  and  remem 
brance  that  Murtagh  of  Meath  was  no  strong  ally  even  if  he 
should  make  choice  of  the  road  of  spears  into  Breffni  for 
the  maid  of  beauty.  Though  reinstated  in  his  holdings, 
no  one  was  forgetting  that,  for  the  blow  to  Gelasius  the 
bishop,  Murtagh  had  suffered  for  a  space  the  loss  of  all 
kingly  rights,  and  the  devout  and  the  spiritual  fathers 
held  it  against  him.  It  was  no  good  time  for  making  bonds 
with  him,  even'  if  he  and  Malachi,  his  son,  had  been  eager 
—  for  Malachi  held  no  great  strength  of  his  own.  The 
time  must  be  on  another  day. 

But  in  all  his  thoughts  of  her  there  was  the  curious  cer 
tainty  that  their  own  time  would  come.  She  was  the  music 
singing  far  in  the  forest  of  a  fairy  rath ;  she  was  the  veiled 
maid  beyond  the  lattice ;  she  was  ever  Argatonel,  the  silver 

[183] 


DERVAILlllNANCIAR 


cloud  out  beyond  the  nearer  gray !  His  men  of  the  spears 
and  battle-axes  would  have  had  curious  thoughts  if  they 
had  known  that  the  music  to  which  the  great  Diarmod  of 
dread  kept  pace  on  his  warhorse  was  the  song  of  the  boy, 
Ardan,  in  boyish  praise  of  her  beauty. 

He  had  forgotten  that  song,  or  thought  he  had,  but  in 
some  far  corner  of  his  mind  it  lay  sleeping,  and  the  thought 
of  her  whiteness  in  the  arms  of  that  red  terror  of  the  north 
wakened  it,  and  gave  it  music  until  he  heard  the  feet  of 
his  men  and  the  feet  of  his  warhorse  marching  to  it ! 


HND  the  young  maker  of  the  song? 
His  travels  abroad  made  the  wandering  north 
ward  an  easy  path.  He  slept  at  monasteries,  and 
was  known  only  as  ward  of  "  Dall  Clairineach,"  who  had 
been  the  scholarly  abbot  of  Ardbreccan.  But  that  name, 
given  the  learned  O'Cahsadhe,  was  a  key  to  every  door. 
At  Armagh,  Ardan  was  even  trusted  with  messages  to 
other  retreats  of  religious  men  further  along  his  way,  and 
at  one  monastery  was  offered  a  Saxon  slave  as  gille,  and  a 
letter  to  Tiernan  O'Ruarc,  prince  of  Breffni,  giving  thanks 
from  a  fortunate  prior  to  whom  he  had  sent  vestments 
and  altar  candles! 

This  lucky  chance  brought  aid  to  Ardan  and  much  com 
fort.  He  had  only  to  say,  "  A  letter  from  a  grateful  priest 
to  a  gracious  prince."  And  over  mountain  or  moor  the 
message  was  given  a  pleasure  path.  Near  his  own  domains 
the  O'Ruarc  did  not  plunder  or  lay  waste,  and  the  way  to 
Lough  Gilla  was  an  open  way  when  within  the  Breffni 
borders. 

[184] 


DERVAIL  t^lNANCIAR 


But  the  Prince  of  Breffni  was  not  at  home  to  receive  the 
priest's  letter  of  thanks.  He  was  gone  north  to  the  shrine 
of  Phadraig  in  Lough  Dearg,  as  was  his  custom  after  great 
nestings.  Even  his  enemies  never  could  say  the  O'Ruarc 
shirked  pious  pilgrimage,  or  rich  gifts  of  hospitality.  The 
flat  top  of  a  great  hill  above  Lough  Gilla  was  seen  afar  as 
a  landmark  and  named  the  "  Table  of  Breffni."  It  fitted 
in  well  with  the  giant  cromlechs  of  the  ancients  to  which 
the  Saxon  slave  made  curious  circles  of  respect,  and  told 
to  Ardan  the  faith  for  which  the  ancient  gods  had  left 
such  monuments.  It  was  different  from  the  faith  of  the 
saints  by  which  Ardan  had  been  given  instruction,  and  he 
chided  the  slave  and  made  a  prayer,  and  went  on  between 
hills  touched  golden  by  the  carpet  of  gorse,  and  touched 
blue  as  peat  smoke  when  seen  afar  along  the  fair  waters 
of  lake  and  river. 

The  letter  from  the  cleric  opened  the  portals  of  Breffni 
for  Ardan,  and  his  own  youth  and  sunshine  of  face  made 
him  welcome  alike  to  steward  and  warrior.  The  cleric 
of  the  castle  was  less  friendlike,  and  had  searching  and 
priestly  questions,  and  another  man  in  scholar's  robe  gave 
long  looks  to  him,  but  no  question.  He  was  called  Duf- 
fagan,  and  had  been  of  the  captured  at  Clonard  —  a  silent 
student  to  whom  Tiernan  gave  care  of  the  plundered 
books,  because  of  his  learning  in  such  craft. 

No  word  did  Ardan  send  to  Dervail,  but  with  a  bard  of 
Breffni  he  made  pact  of  friendliness,  and  told  him  of 
Erinn's  music  in  monasteries,  and  the  courts  of  princes 
in  Gaul  and  beyond  it  to  the  east.  An  Irish  air  he  had 
brought  back  from  Rome  set  to  words  of  Italy,  and  he  sang 
it  to  the  delight  of  all  in  the  great  hall.  After  the  supper 
and  the  songs  of  olden  days,  the  little  harp  was  given  to 
his  hands,  and  he  took  his  turn  in  making  music,  as  was 
the  custom  and  joy  among  those  of  the  musicians  and 

[185] 


DERVAILIMNANCIAR 


poets.  Young  lovers  would  thus  sing  their  thoughts  to 
the  one  maid  most  longed  for,  and  maids  and  women  of  the 
household  of  Breffni  had  their  pleasure  of  the  evening  in 
that  pastime.  The  castle  took  to  itself  neither  silence  nor 
added  prayer  for  that  Tiernan,  the  lord  of  it,  had  fared 
north  for  penitence  at  the  shrine  of  Phadraig. 

It  was  a  gay  and  very  beautiful  hall  where  the  music  was 
made,  for  no  stone  of  the  wall  but  was  covered  with  hang 
ings  of  rich  weavings  from  the  lands  foreign,  and  under 
foot  were  many  skins  of  animals,  and  one  of  a  great  white 
bear  was  beneath  the  feet  of  Dervail  where  she  sat  on  the 
throne  seat. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  hall  she  sat  with  her  maidens,  and 
the  chiefs  and  ladies  of  Breffni's  household.  Wearily 
enough  she  sat  there  above  the  others,  and  brooding  she 
sat  in  a  robe  of  white,  heavy  with  gold  threads  and  gir 
dled  with  green  ropes  of  gold-set  emeralds  from  the  Kerry 
hills.  Her  veil  was  of  white,  and  fell  from  a  crown  of  gold 
and  glimmering  green  jewels.  Her  chin  rested  on  her 
hand,  and  she  had  a  sidelong  look  for  a  chief  who  sat 
near  her,  reciting  some  late  glory  of  her  lord's  victories. 

Ardan  noted  it  all  afar  off  where  he  hid  himself  with 
the  younger  singers.  The  song  that  came  to  his  mind 
was  of  a  white  bird  weighted  with  golden  chains.  But  in 
the  old  Irish  tales  of  chained  doves  or  swans  there  were 
ever  two  birds  chained  together  with  golden  links  —  and 
she  was  alone.  In  his  heart  he  was  glad  it  was  so.  He 
could  not  think  of  her  in  another  way.  She  was  still  to 
him  the  lone  white  bird,  though  a  jeweled  queen. 

But  it  was  not  of  that  he  dared  sing  when  the  tiny  harp 
was  put  in  his  hand,  for  he  was  to  the  others  only  a  chance 
bearer  of  a  letter,  and  traveling  in  no  great  honor.  And 
she  was  wife  to  Prince  of  Breffni  and  sat  on  a  throne. 

And  the  thing  he  sang  was  the  farewell  song  he  had 

[186] 


made  for  her  in  a  far  dawn  when  she  had  worn  a  silver- 
gray  veil  instead  of  a  queen's  crown.  And  he  had  named 
her  silver  cloud  —  Argatonel. 

The  sun  has  set  at  morning  tide, 

Argatonel  ! 
The  wall  between  is  deep  and  wide, 

Argatonel  ! 
Above  it  stars  of  heaven  may  rise 

In  witchery, 
But  none  so  wondrous  as  your  eyes 

Of  mystery. 

Argatonel  —  white  wings  to  you! 
Argatonel  —  white  road  to  you! 
O  Silver  Cloud  that  wraps  the  world, 

My  song  to  you  ! 

He  marked  the  very  heart-beat  in  which  she  knew  the 
song  and  the  singer,  though  she  did  not  turn  head  or 
glance  to  where  he  was,  and  her  attention  was  given  entirely 
to  converse  with  the  chief  of  Mac  Roigh  and  his  lady 
wife  who  was  an  Irish  princess  out  of  Alba,  where  Irish 
tribes  had  gone  in  a  far-off  time. 

But  when  the  song  was  ended,  Dervail  turned  as  if  for 
mere  courtesy,  and  spoke. 

"  It  is  a  fair,  mellow  voice,  and  a  new  song  for  us,"  she 
said.  "  Bid  the  singer  come  for  speech." 

The  steward  of  the  castle  brought  forward  Ardan,  and 
told  his  name  and  errand,  and  showed  the  letter  and  spoke. 

"  I  bade  him  wait  the  return  of  our  Lord  of  Breffni,  and 
while  he  waits  we  seek  to  give  him  fair  courtesies,  and  the 
usage  of  a  chiefs  son." 

"  You  serve  your  lord  well,"  said  the  queen.  "  He  shall 
be  of  our  household.  Whence  come  you,  strange  singer?" 

"  Late  from  Rome  and  other  far  lands,"  said  Ardan,  his 
eyes  on  the  golden  hem  of  her  robe,  and  not  lifted  to  her 

[187] 


DERVAILPliNANCIAR 


face,  for  the  eyes  of  the  others  were  looking,  and  had 
nought  else  to  do  but  look. 

"Do  pilgrims  to  Rome  come  back  with  songs  of  gal 
lantry  to  bright  eyes?"  she  asked,  and  smiled,  and  the 
younger  maids  pressed  close  to  listen. 

"A  pilgrim  sometimes  carries  the  songs,  and  the  mem 
ory  of  eyes,  on  all  the  wide  circle  from  the  white  strand 
of  Erinn  to  the  harbor  of  return,"  said  Ardan,  and  she 
laughed  at  that,  and  bade  him  to  a  seat  near,  and  told  him 
he  should  sing  for  her  again,  and  he  might  teach  one  of 
the  maidens  the  song  of  "Argatonel,"  for  the  air  was  a 
sweet  air,  and  a  plaintive. 

Then,  having  shown  him  this  much  of  courtesy,  her  mind 
in  appearance  strayed  from  him  to  matters  of  more  import, 
but  the  youths  and  maids  circled  him,  and  had  their  pleas 
ure  in  questions  of  far  lands,  and  Roderick,  son  of  Tur- 
lough,  the  King  of  Erinn,  was  there,  and  spoke  of  Rome 
and  the  scriptures  of  the  Irish  sent  eastward  to  carry  both 
religion  and  book  craft  to  the  Germanic  peoples,  and  their 
neighbors,  the  Gauls. 

"  For  that  purpose  was  Erinn  the  savior  of  learning  for 
all  Europe,"  said  the  Mac  Roigh.  "In  the  wars  of  the 
Huns  and  the  Northmen  the  great  eastern  land  was  swept 
bare  of  scholars,  and  Greek  was  lost  to  the  Gallic  tribes 
until  our  books  and  our  men  carried  it  back  again." 

"Strange  to  hear  —  that  is,"  mused  Roderick.  "As 
strange  as  to  think  that  the  Gaelic  and  the  Latin  we  speak 
and  read  could  be  lost  to  our  children  in  another  day." 

"  It  may  be  that  the  waters  on  every  side  of  Erinn  will 
be  the  wall  to  keep  that  loss  far  from  us  forever,"  said 
Mac  Roigh,  "but  in  the  great  foreign  land  there  is  neither 
wall  nor  waters  of  separation.  The  tribes  overrun  and 
melt  into  each  other,  or  they  fight  and  harvest  the  enemy 
as  grain  in  a  field.  It  is  all  and  always  change  there; 

[188] 


thus  were  their  settlements  of  religious  men  reaching  out 
for  the  Irish  scriptures  made  here  in  sanctuary.  Gelasius 
the  bishop  was  telling  us  of  that  at  Clonfert." 

"  I  had  thought,"  ventured  Roderick,  "  that  between  the 
Danes  and  raiders  of  Norway  and  their  Saxon  mates, 
Erinn  had  work  in  plenty  to  save  even  life,  without  the 
strife  to  save  learning  enough  to  civilize  her  invaders. 
It's  a  good  gift  they  got  from  us  when  our  saints  taught 
them  religion.  And  it  was  an  evil  payment  they  made  to 
us  with  their  ships  full  of  raiders." 

"  Our  well-beloved  Dall  Clairineach  told  me  Erinn  was 
set  apart  like  a  jewel  in  a  lost  casket,"  said  Ardan.  "  The 
old  south  sea-way  to  us  was  lost  to  the  traders  of  Europe 
through  the  time  of  the  great  wars;  our  land  was  out  of 
the  path  of  battle  and  was  forgot.  When  they  found  us 
again,  it  was  in  a  different  way  —  an  island  beyond  an 
island  in  the  sea!  While  they  had  fought  and  made 
destruction  of  all  things,  our  men  of  many  crafts  and 
many  books  had  worked  to  garner  and  build.  All  the 
learning  was  here  to  start  anew  the  broken,  foreign  tribes." 

"More  than  some  godly  souls  made  welcome!"  said 
Roderick.  "  I  ever  had  wonder  on  me  to  know  what  pen 
ance  was  given  Forgal  the  saint  when  the  Pope  at  Rome 
reproved  his  heresy  in  writing  that  the  world  was  round 
instead  of  flat  as  we  all  are  knowing  it." 

"Forgal  had  lived  on  the  coast  here  at  home,"  said 
Cineath  the  cleric,  "and  took  note  that  the  masts  of  a 
vessel  at  sea  are  seen  before  the  body  of  the  vessel  is  seen. 
Yes,  he  was  given  strong  reproof  for  saying  it,  but  his 
writing  was  not  changed  because  of  that  —  he  left  it  as 
the  words  were  written.  In  all  else  it  is  known  he  was  a 
true  scholar,  and  a  holy  man  —  the  blessing  of  God  on  his 
soul,  and  on  us!" 

The  talk  went  on  thus,  and  the  queen  and  her  ladies 

[189] 


listened.  Ardan  could  feel  her  eyes  on  him,  though  never 
once  did  he  meet  her  gaze  with  directness.  He  did  not 
obtrude  his  speech,  except  as  one  of  the  men  of  rank  asked 
of  his  journey  afar,  but  he  knew  that  he  did  not  seem  out 
of  place  near  her  throne,  and  had  a  pride  in  that. 

"  You  speak  of  the  wise  and  holy  abbot  of  Ardbreccan," 
said  Mac  Roigh  as  the  time  for  rest  came,  and  the  prayer 
of  the  cleric  was  ended.  "Was  he  well  known  by  you?" 

"  He  was  as  my  father  while  he  lived,  and  left  me  to  his 
close  friend  when  he  died,"  said  Ardan.  "  His  fancy  was 
to  make  me  as  a  scribe  and  genealogist  —  but  why  should 
I,  a  son  of  no  family,  turn  genealogist?" 

"No  family?"  said  Mac  Roigh,  and  looked  at  him.  "If 
you  were  not  of  blood  and  race,  think  you  so  renowned  a 
man  would  have  found  in  you  the  stuff  for  his  science? 
And  you  wear  the  colors  of  a  noble." 

"  Youth  thinks  not  so  much  of  these  matters,  and  I  was 
but  a  youth  when  I  turned  from  that  work,"  said  Ardan. 
"  Instead  of  a  devout  priest  with  quill  and  ink  pot  I  am  a 
priest's  message  bearer  to  royal  houses." 

"  We  will  see  you  again  tomorrow,"  said  the  queen  gra 
ciously.  "  If  you  ride,  you  could  attend  on  the  ladies  who 
fancy  sport  with  the  falcons  on  the  moor." 

"  I  ride,"  said  Ardan. 


days  they  were  speaking  like  that  before 
princes  and  chiefs,  and  three  nights  he  was  led  by 
Kauth,  her  woman,  to  Kauth's  own  curtained  room 
of  sleeping,  and  there  Dervail  came  to  him.  Kauth  was 
their  guard,  and  their  nights  were  of  whispers.  He  heard 

[190] 


DERVAIL  HUNAN  GAR 


there  her  dreams  of  strange  greatness,  and  knew  that 
Breffni's  crown  was  as  a  golden  rung  in  a  ladder  she  meant 
to  climb. 

"  And  you,  Ardan,  will  climb  with  me,  for  it  is  true  what 
the  chief  of  Mac  Roigh  has  said :  no  youth  below  the  noble 
rank  of  alre-desa  wears  the  colors,  and  is  taught  music  and 
chess,  shooting  and  the  riding  of  horses  —  swift  riding 
beautiful !  You  are  fitting  in  all  ways,  and  have  the  trust 
of  Diarmod,  and  that  is  a  thing  lucky.  When  the  day 
comes  I  will  have  you  near  the  throne  and  my  eyes  are 
made  glad  that  you  have  visage  and  speech  of  a  prince. 
It  will  be  well  for  you." 

"Your  talk  is  in  circles,"  he  said.    "You  are  queen  — 
yet  you  talk  of  the  day  when  you  win  the  throne !    I  come 
through  all  the  wilderness  for  the  reason  that  you  were 
a  soul  in  prison  —  and  it  is  a  different  thing  I  find;    You 
have  freedom  for  the  first  time,  and  are  using  it  on  men." 

"  I  do  the  things  of  my  girl  dreams,"  she  said.  "  I  never 
was  told  how  women  had  power  and  here  I  am  learning. 
When  I  go  to  Diarmod — " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  good  to  dream  that.  There  is 
Prince  of  Breffni  and  Mor  na  Tuathal  between  you  two! 
Her  people  are  of  greatness  in  power,  and  even  a  strong 
king  might  not  stand  out  against  them.  She  is  his  wife, 
and  her  brothers  are  his  watchers." 

Dervail  lifted  a  feather,  and  tossed  it  upward. 

"She,  and  her  brother  abbots,  and  sainted  priests  will 
weigh  not  so  much  as  that  against  my  wish,  when  I  wish 
it,"  she  said.  "  I  am  out  of  the  convent  walls  forever  and 
am  learning  the  power  of  women  —  and  the  strength  of  it 
is  sweet." 

"And  what  answer  to  Diarmod  who  would  save  you 
again  for  sanctuary  if  your  prayer  was  for  that  ?  for  with 
out  your  word  he  may  not  take  this  road." 

C19H 


"  The  time  will  come  when  I  send  him  signal.  It  will 
be  —  it  will  be  a  white  pearl  of  royal  size.  There  are  creels 
of  jewels  here !  I  will  be  sending  one  to  him  more  beauti 
ful  than  the  one  given  by  Gillebart  of  Limerick  to  Anselm 
the  archbishop  oversea  —  and  that  one  was  called  a  royal 
gift  to  the  prince  of  the  English  church.  Yes,  it  will  be  a 
pearl  I  will  send  when  I  send  the  call  for  him.  It  is  a 
fine  thing  for  me  that  I  am  able  to  bind  my  friends  with  a 
queen's  gifts." 

"It  —  is  not  a  queen  to  whom  he  was  sending  me,  Der- 
vail.  It  was  a  veiled  maid  of  the  cloisters,  and  she  calling 
for  champion." 

She  laughed  low,  and  looked  at  him  in  pride. 

"  Every  man  in  this  keep  would  be  champion  of  mine  if  I 
called  —  and  if  I  gave  him  my  smiles,"  she  said,  "but  not 
one  is  strong  to  control  all  the  others.  I  have  given  much 
thought  to  that  matter  and  secret  knowings  have  been 
spoken  to  me  by  a  man  of  the  Old  Wisdom !  Diarmod  is, 
of  all  Erinn,  the  one  of  strength;  and  he  will  be  stronger 
in  days  to  come,  for  his  gathering  of  spears  will  be  a  great 
gathering.  The  spears  he  gathers  will  make  a  new  ruling 
for  all  Erinn.  And  I  was  knowing  that  thing  before  the 
day  I  laid  sight  on  Tiernan  the  ravager." 

"  You  are  talking  of  dark,  hidden  things,  Dervail,  and 
they  are  forbidden." 

" They  are  true  things,  and  the  stars  tell  them!  A  secret 
man,  who  has  the  name  of  Duffagan,  told  me  that  thing  in 
Clonard.  He  was  a  scholar  but  no  monk,  and  Kauth  gives 
him  fellowship.  When  O'Ruarc  would  in  willingness 
bring  any  retainer  of  mine,  I  brought  him  as  husband  to 
Kauth,  and  that  was  saving  his  life.  He  has  a  fever  on 
him  for  old  books,  and  his  was  the  task  to  carry  north  the 
annals  most  rare.  He  has  the  trust  of  O'Ruarc  who  thinks 
him  a  book  fool;  but  he  knows  the  stars  and  the  tides, 

[192] 


DERVAiLiHiNANaAR 


does  Duffagan  Mac  Knea,  and  he  knows  the  tides  of  men's 
lives  as  he  does  the  tides  of  the  sea !  When  he  tells  me  it 
is  time  to  send  call  to  Diarmod  of  the  Spears,  it  will  be 
gladness  for  me  to  be  sending  it.  And  until  that  day 
comes  I  am  waiting  and  learning  and  dreaming  my 
dreams." 

"Mac  Knea,"  said  Ardan,  "that  means  'Son  of  the 
Night*  —  it  is  a  curious  name  to  put  on  a  man." 

"  Yet  it  is  fitting,"  said  Dervail,  "  else  he  would  not  be 
having  it.  Words  have  power,  and  the  wrong  word  he 
would  not  have  on  him.  He  has  a  wisdom  not  to  talk  of 
to  every  bird  crossing  over,  and  none  of  these  people  are 
knowing  it.  They  laugh  at  him,  and  call  him  the  little 
dark  spider  sitting  ever  alone  in  a  corner  with  watching 
eyes ;  but  a  spider  spins  webs  beyond  craft  of  mortal." 

"  It  may  be  evil  craft  you  praise  in  him !  How  then  if 
you  find  it  so?" 

"  It  is  true  craft,"  she  insisted.  "  Already  it  has  proven 
itself  on  me.  Of  Tiernan's  hosting  I  was  warned  by  him. 
I  was  ready  on  that  day,  and  it  was  no  weeping  novice  he 
found  in  me,  but  a  king's  ward,  with  the  rights  of  a  noble. 
He  was  my  key  to  the  world,  and  I  used  him.  I  came  not 
out  of  the  walls  a  captive:  it  was  the  wife  of  the  Prince 
of  Breffni  who  rode  beside  him." 

"  A  mystery  are  you  to  me,  Dervail,"  said  Ardan,  "  and 
not  the  caged  bird  I  crossed  the  kingdoms  to  find." 

"  The  caged  bird ! "  she  said.  "  Ardan,  have  you  memory 
of  the  snow  bird  you  made  of  me  in  the  cloisters?" 

"  I  have  the  memory  —  and  the  guilt,"  he  said.  "  When 
I  listen  to  you  I  think  I  was  'fey*  that  night  I  worked 
on  it.  I  had  cold  and  hunger  and  my  soul  afire.  Had  I 
made  likeness  of  the  Holy  Ones  with  such  perfectness,  the 
monks  would  have  made  a  saint  of  me;  instead  of  which 
they  banished  us  both  far  as  was  in  their  power.  And  — 

[193] 


DERVAlLlllNANClAR 


they  did  not  break  down  its  white  wings  of  ice  quick 
enough  to  save  it  from  the  eyes  of  Diarmod ! " 

She  gave  a  little  cry  at  that,  but  it  was  a  sound  of  joyous 
triumph. 

"  Again  has  Mac  Knea  proven  true,"  she  said.  "  He 
told  me  it  was  by  some  work  of  another  that  Diarmod's 
heart  turned  to  thought  of  me.  That  I  did  not  believe, 
and  so  I  have  said;  but  it  was  true!  You,  Ardan,  made 
one  image  of  me  poised  for  flight  —  you  must  make  for 
me  another  —  when  I  have  reached  the  end  of  the  flight  and 
picked  my  throne." 

He  thought  she  made  a  jest  of  him,  but  her  beauty  was 
so  great  that  he  was  content  to  look  in  silence,  as  he 
thought  that  no  queen  ever  told  of  in  song  or  annal  had 
such  beauty  as  hers.  Not  fair  Dierdre  of  the  sorrows,  or 
the  wondrous  Brighde  who  was  goddess  of  beauty  and 
art,  or  that  Grania  whose  beauty  and  courage  were  as  one 
when  her  beauty  won  a  crown,  and  her  courage  dared  toss 
it  aside  as  a  ball  in  her  great  game  —  and  her  game  was 
Love. 

He  sat  thinking  these  things,  and  knowing  that  all  the 
beauty  of  all  of  them  could  not  equal  the  beauty  of  Dervail. 
It  was  seemly  enough  that  her  fame  might  indeed  grow 
great  as  she  hoped,  and  her  name  be  widely  known  among 
the  rulers  of  Erinn. 

So  deep  was  his  dreaming  of  it  that  he  kept  no  count  of 
his  silence,  or  her  curious  looks. 

"  Of  what  are  your  thoughts  when  you  stare  past  me  as 
if  there  was  naught  between  yourself  and  the  skins  on 
the  wall?"  she  asked,  and  he  roused  and  looked  at  her. 

"  I  am  thinking  there  was  never  your  equal  for  beauty 
in  all  the  wide  world,  Dervail,"  he  said  simply,  "neither 
them  that  are  living,  nor  them  who  are  gone  the  Way." 

"  You  are  the  same  Ardan,"  and  her  smile  was  strange. 

[194] 


"  You  think  I  fail  to  make  note  of  beauty  because  I  do 
not  play  the  sighing  champion  for  your  favor,"  he  said, 
"  but  you  read  me  wrong.  As  ward  of  Murtagh  of  Meath, 
and  foster  child  of  Donough  of  Orielle  it  is  a  pretty  puzzle 
to  me  why  each  king  was  not  striving  to  make  best  mar 
riage  for  you  with  ally  of  his  own.  They  shut  you  in  high 
walls  for  life  without  choice  of  yours  —  and  would  have 
forgot  you  were  living  if  —  " 

"  If  the  Son  of  the  Night  had  not  made  the  key  to  come 
to  my  cell ! " 

"What  would  you  say?" 

"  Three  new  moons  was  his  work  to  help  it  to  come  that 
way,"  she  whispered.  "  He  made  secret  prayers  for  that 
thing  —  to  the  four  ways  he  was  sending  that  call  for  the 
man  —  and  Tiernan  was  the  man  to  hear  it,  and  to  come 
there,  and  Tiernan  was  the  key ! " 

"More  like  it  was  that  Tiernan  sent  your  master  of 
druid  lore  to  spy  out  the  wealth  of  Clonard!  You  were 
part  of  that  wealth,  Dervail." 

"I  have  wonder  if  that  be  true,"  she  mused,  and  her 
eyes  were  looking  sideways  in  thought,  but  the  red-rose 
lips  curved  over  the  white  little  teeth  of  her,  and  the  blue 
eyes  had  laughing  pride. 

"  Even  if  it  be  so,  the  rule  of  Tiernan  is  over  with  that 
man,  and  mine  is  the  rule,"  she  said.  "  He  pins  his  life  to 
my  service.  Tiernan  is  now  but  a  man  on  our  chessboard. 
And  you  are  wrong  in  one  thing :  Tiernan  knows  nothing 
of  Duffagan's  hidden  wisdom;  no,  Tiernan  has  dread  of 
such  learning,  for  he  was  born  at  Whitsuntide,  and  it  was 
foretold  that  by  a  man  and  a  woman  of  druid  craft  would 
his  downfall  be  if  he  followed  their  steps.  That  is  why, 
after  every  hosting,  or  every  great  killing  he  makes  faith 
ful  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  Phadraig.  Great  and  rich 
gifts  he  will  be  leaving  there  to  prove  he  is  Christian 

[195] 


DERVAIL  tMSNANClAR 


surely.  No  —  Ardan,  Tiernan  of  Breffni  has  fear,  and  has 
horror  of  all  'Old  Wisdom,'  and  the  life  of  Mac  Knea 
would  go  out  like  a  rushlight  in  the  wind  if  Tiernan 
knew." 

"And  you!    Is  there  no  fear  on  you?" 

"At  first  there  was  fear  —  and  great  fear — but  not  now. 
The  strength  of  the  stars  is  with  us,  and  that  lifts  and 
bears  me  above  the  fear.  The  'Old  Wisdom*  has  made 
me  Queen  of  Breffni  and  that,  Ardan,  is  my  first  move  in 
the  game,  and  it  is  a  great  game." 

"If  someone  should  be  telling  Tiernan  O'Ruarc?" 

"I  would  kill  that  one,  Ardan,  and  you  alone  have  my 
secret." 

"Suppose  I  tell  it  to  Diarmod?" 

She  looked  at  him,  and  thought  a  bit  and  laughed  in 
silence. 

"  That  would  be  favor  to  me,"  she  decided.  "  He  has  no 
love  for  me  —  yet;  though  he  has  much  thought  of  me. 
That  telling  would  give  him  more  thought,  for  I  will 
spend  one  secret  night  on  Tara  with  the  man  whose  name 
will  go  down  the  centuries  with  mine !  Take  that  saying 
to  Diarmod  for  me,  Ardan;  it  will  tell  him  that  no  pale- 
blooded  nun  has  come  north  to  rule  in  Breffni.  Let  him 
give  dreams  to  a  night  in  Tara ! " 

"Tara  has  been  desolate  these  many  generations." 

"  Yet  his  fathers  did  rule  there,  Ardan,  and  it  may  be  my 
own  did !  It  is  the  place  for  Ard-Ri  of  Erinn,  and  it  may 
be  a  great  rule  will  yet  be  built  on  its  ruins." 

"  It  is  a  dream,  Dervail." 

"Duffagan  is  saying  all  great  things  of  life  have  been 
grown  from  dreams,  and  that  the  moon  and  the  stars 
govern  our  dreams." 

"  I  would  see  this  priest  of  the  forbidden  ere  I  journey 
south,  and  tomorrow  is  the  latest  I  may  linger.  It  is  no 

[196] 


wish  of  mine  to  sec  Tiernan  of  Breffni,  whose  plunder  is 
sacred  things  of  altars." 

"  Yet  are  you  loyal  to  Diarmod.0 

"What  then?  Diarmod  gives  endless  wealth  to  holy 
houses.  His  own  gold  has  built  monasteries  and  churches 
for  the  glory  of  saints." 

"  Ardan,"  said  Dervail,  gently  smiling,  "  all  this  is  truth, 
yet  there  are  other  truths  of  him ;  when  a  lord  of  the  south 
refused  his  daughter  to  Diarmod  in  the  days  of  Diarmod's 
youth,  he  gathered  spears  and  took  her  with  the  veil  and 
the  vows  of  a  nun  on  her !  In  amorous  fellowship  she  was 
held  in  his  castle  and  wedded  there  to  a  lord  of  his  choos 
ing.  That  is  the  custom  of  a  king  who  has  power,  Ardan ! 
He  takes  what  he  wants!  I  hear  much  of  the  power  of 
Diarmod  of  Leinster.  He  has  their  hate,  but  their  tales  are 
tales  of  praise  to  me,  for  they  tell  of  his  strength." 

"  Their  hate  may  build  untruths  against  him.  When  was 
this  ravaging?" 

"In  Kildare,  and  her  name  was  Dhira.  Her  house  was 
the  house  of  Cahsadhe,  and  one  hundred  and  seventy  lives 
were  sent  back  to  God  in  her  capture.  She  lived  a  hidden 
woman  after  that  time,  but  the  story  could  not  be  hidden. 
That  was  before  your  birth,  or  mine,  Ardan." 

"  Dall  Clairineach  surely  had  knowing  of  that  if  it  was 
a  true  thing,  Dervail,  yet  yours  is  the  first  word  of  it  I 
am  hearing." 

"  It  is  not  for  nothing  Diarmod  founds  monasteries  and 
religious  houses!  You  have  been  bred  in  them,  Ardan, 
and  it  is  a  place  for  holding  secret  things." 

Kauth  slipped  through  the  arras  to  tell  them  the  cocks 
were  crowing  and  the  old  day  was  gone.  She  looked 
strangely  at  Ardan,  and  to  Dervail,  when  alone,  she  said 
the  youth  had  much  of  beauty,  too  much  for  such  distance 
of  converse  as  was  his  custom. 

[1973 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR 


"True  enough/*  said  Dervail,  unbraiding  the  pearls  in 
her  hair.  "But  there  are  other  men  for  other  uses,  and 
this  one  has  such  honestness  he  would  be  useless  to  me 
except  in  his  own  spirit.  Because  I  tell  him  much,  he 
thinks  I  tell  him  all;  and  in  his  prayers  my  name  will  not  be 
forgotten." 


[AUTH,who  had  been  lay  sister  of  Clonard,  was  given 
higher  place  than  the  place  of  a  serving-woman  in 
the  castle  of  O'Ruarc,  and  her  dress  held  three 
colors.  She  rode  abroad  with  Dervail  when  the  days  were 
fine,  and  ever  stood  between  when  man  or  woman  made 
approach  to  the  hall  of  the  queen. 

Thus  she  rode  obedient  with  the  glad  riders  of  the 
springtime  in  the  forest,  and  with  adroitness  found  way  to 
lose  herself  with  the  queen  and  Ardan,  and  all  three  rode 
in  the  edge  of  the  great  wood,  and  looked  out  on  the  moor 
where  women  with  their  young  were  gathering  gorse 
bloom  and  marsh  marigold  to  keep  luck  in  the  house  when 
hung  over  the  door  on  May  Eve.  Others  were  plucking 
primrose  for  the  doorstep,  and  youths  were  seen  bearing 
holly  and  rowan  and  a  young  tree  of  the  yew  for  the  circle 
dance  of  the  many  stars  around  the  Still  Star  of  the  north. 

"  It  would  seem  a  strange  nightfall  to  be  out  in  the  wil 
derness,"  said  Ardan.  "All  Christians  are  together  else 
where  on  the  eve  of  Beltain." 

"  Duffagan  Mac  Knea  gives  me  word  that  the  prayers 
are  the  same,  and  only  the  difference  is  that  saints'  worship 
is  given  instead  of  druid.  The  dance  does  not  change, 
and  the  harp  music  does  not  change,  and  the  faith  does 

[198] 


not  change.     I  have  spoken  at  every  chance  with  these 
people  concerning  all  things,  and  not  yet  has  Duffagan 
told  me  anything  not  of  easy  proof." 
"  But  the  castle  cleric,  Cineath,  has  he  no  reproof?  " 
"He  knows  Duffagan  only  as  student  and  scribe,  who 
has  gone  into  the  foreign  world  to  the  shores  of  the  Nile, 
and  tells  no  cleric  of  the  deeper  things  learned  there." 

They  had  reached  a  hill  of  three  circles,  and  Kauth,  who 
rode  apart,  came  close  and  slipt  from  her  horse. 

"  No  animal  must  press  foot  up  above,"  she  said.  "  So 
said  Duffagan  to  me.  Since  the  end  of  yesterday  has  he 
been  here,  and  fasting.  It  is  new  moon,  and  Beltain." 

Dervail  sat  on  her  white  horse  and  looked  up  at  the 
steep  sides  of  the  hill,  and  looked  beside  her  at  a  huge 
square  stone,  pierced,  and  once  rudely  carven,  but  now 
covered  with  lichen  gray  and  green  and  russet.  It  was 
high  as  her  own  head  and  she  on  the  back  of  the  horse. 
Other  stones  of  the  same  bigness  were  seen  as  if  standing 
guard  around  the  circle  of  a  great  earth  temple. 

"There  were  great  men  in  the  world  when  that  thing 
was  done,"  she  said.  "  It  was  not  two  or  three  people  who 
were  coming  here  then  to  take  note  of  the  sky  and  the 
clouds  over  the  new  moon." 

Ardan  said  no  word.  He  saw  Kauth  take  from  under 
her  cloak  a  white  pigeon  wound  about  with  white  and  saf 
fron  bands.  She  placed  it  in  the  hands  of  Dervail  and 
pointed  upward. 

"Not  empty-handed  must  you  go  there,"  she  said. 
"  Pluck  a  rowan  or  a  holly  branch  for  the  hand  of  your 
friend.  I  have  my  happiness  in  lack  of  knowledge,  and 
will  be  your  guard  of  the  horse  below." 

A  dim  path  went  up  through  the  wood  clothing  the 
steep,  and  at  the  first  terrace  they  saw  other  tall  stones  like 
sentinels  circling  the  hill.  Ardan  felt  as  if  he  had  passed 

[199] 


NAN  CIAR 


some  strange  dread  portal  into  an  ancient  life;  far  above 
he  saw  that  which  he  had  heard  of  in  Gaul  but  never 
dreamed  to  see  in  Erinn. 

It  was  a  temple  in  the  open  with  the  sky  for  roof.  Great 
squared  pillars  arose  in  a  circle,  and  to  the  east  a  sanc 
tuary  was  made  by  a  huge  slab  overhead  and  two  uprights 
on  either  side.  An  altar  was  there  on  a  raised  floor  of 
stone,  and  Duffagan  the  silent,  in  white  robe  and  saffron 
bands,  stood  there  watching  the  sinking  sun,  and  striking 
flint  on  flint  craftily  where  the  silken  strands  of  the  wild 
flax  made  tinder. 

A  tiny  spiral  of  smoke  curled  and  drifted  along  the  stone 
slab  above  him,  and  the  two  at  the  edge  of  the  circle  stood 
still  and  spoke  no  word. 

A  curious  hoop  of  hazel  wands  was  beside  the  altar,  and 
two  balls  suspended  at  either  side  —  one  of  yellow,  one 
white ;  twigs  of  rowan  were  there,  and  twigs  of  yew. 

The  priest  lifted  the  hoop  and  whirled  it  sunwise  through 
the  smoke,  and  Ardan  knew  it  was  symbol  of  sun  and  moon 
circling  thus  through  the  smoke  of  the  earth  altar. 

As  the  last  fire  of  the  sun  went  beyond  the  great  sea  of 
mystery,  the  blaze  of  the  temple  leaped  up  —  it  was  as  if 
stolen  out  of  the  western  sky! 

Dervail  thrust  spray  of  holly  into  the  hand  of  Ardan, 
and  went  forward  with  her  offering. 

Ardan  could  hear  the  low  murmur  of  a  prayer  or  incan 
tation  as  water  from  a  shallow  cup  in  the  stone  was 
sprinkled  in  a  circle  about  the  slender  blaze. 

Sun  and  Sky, 
Moon  and  Earth, 
Fire  and  Water, 
Living  Green! 

As  the  priest  lifted  his  eyes,  Dervail  went  forward  with 
her  strange  offering.  Without  fear  she  walked,  yet  with 

[200] 


CIAJT 


a  look  of  question.  And  Ardan  knew  it  was  for  the  first 
time. 

"  As  Life  I  make  my  offer,"  said  Dervail. 

"As  Life  I  give  it  again  to  the  elements  by  which  life 
endures." 

The  voice  of  the  man  had  a  sweet  singing  note  in  it  by 
which  Ardan  was  won  in  surprise.  He  had  expected 
roughness  or  harshness  in  an  un-christian  priest,  yet  Duf- 
fagan,  who  was  also  "  Son  of  the  Night,"  was  gentle  beyond 
belief. 

So  amazed  was  he  at  this  that  he  scarce  noted  the  firm, 
quick  stroke  of  the  flint  knife  until  the  wings  fluttered 
once,  and  then  were  held  close  and  steady  while  the  blood 
trickled  from  the  slit  throat  to  the  altar  where  the  fire  was. 

Dervail  stood,  serene,  yet  pale  of  face,  for  it  was  a  place 
of  curious  imaginings.  Ardan  saw  her  cast  quick  look 
over  her  shoulder,  and  knew  that,  like  him,  she  felt  the 
movement,  or  the  very  breathing  of  a  multitude  circling 
that  high  place  of  ancient  mysteries.  Once  he  thought  he 
heard  the  sound  of  shrill  singing  far  off,  to  the  tramp  of 
thousands  of  feet,  but  in  another  moment  he  knew  it  was 
a  distant  shepherd's  pipe,  and  the  wind  hurtling  through 
the  forest  below. 

Wind  caught  the  flame  and  blew  it  against  the  hazel 
hoop  of  the  symbols.  Dervail  led  Ardan  forward. 

"  Once  I  was  to  come  to  this  place  where  you  read  the 
stars,  Duff  agan,"  she  said.  "  I  am  here  to  keep  faith,  and 
I  bring  my  one  friend  who  makes  offer  beside  me." 

Ardan's  hand  held  out  the  branch  of  holly,  and  Duffagan 
stripped  the  leaves,  and  let  them  fall  one  by  one  on  the 
blaze.  His  watching  of  each  new  flame  was  curious.  He 
did  not  speak  until  there  were  left  only  red  embers  of  the 
twigs. 

"  Good  it  is  that  your  soul  is  strong  in  faith,  O  Queen," 

[201] 


DERVAILSSNANCIAR 


spoke  the  strange,  gentle,  even  voice.  "  The  trial  times  of 
life  will  call  for  much  strength  of  yours,  and  it  is  well  to 
prove  faiths.  I  have  fasted  and  prayed  here,  and  have 
read  the  sky  at  this  new  time  of  the  moon,  but  this  is  not 
a  moon  in  which  change  will  come  to  you.  It  is  a  moon 
for  patience.  Your  friend  who  has  come  as  a  new  star  in 
your  sky  is  safest  if  his  going  is  soon.  There  are  watch 
ful  eyes  in  the  head  of  the  cleric  of  Breffni.  Take  you 
leave  as  if  careless  of  time,  but  ride  for  life  when  you  have 
turned  a  hill!" 

"Cineath  the  cleric?"  mused  Dervail.  "He  is  a  ferret 
for  Tiernan.  I  will  provide  for  you  extra  horse  on  the 
way,  Ardan." 

Ardan  gave  curious  glances  to  the  man  whose  words  she 
heeded,  and  made  promise  to  act  on.  Dark  he  was,  as  his 
name  denoted  —  dark,  and  small,  and  gentle  —  and  his  dark 
eyes  had  a  strange,  withdrawn  look  as  if  looking  at  the 
two  mortals,  yet  listening  to  unseen  things! 

"The  Great  Bear  of  the  stars  points  again  to  the  east 
at  fall  of  night,"  he  said.  "  It  is  the  mid-sign  between  heat 
and  cold,  and  is  the  time  for  searching.  The  old  learning 
has  been  lost  for  the  reason  that  no  royal  protector  dare 
stand  against  the  craft  of  the  saints  and  their  followers. 
But  many,  Dervail,  will  have  your  name  in  their  speech, 
and  you  will  cause  much  wonder  in  the  minds  of  many. 
That  is  a  thing  I  read  in  all  castings  for  you,  and  it  may 
come  to  pass  that  you  will  be  the  royal  one  who  dares 
openly  sanction  that  ancient  hidden  wisdom  to  which  each 
simple  heart  makes  secret  prayer." 

"  With  aid  from  you,  and  guided  by  the  powers  unseen, 
I  have  brought  here  in  secret  my  vow  offering,"  said  Der 
vail.  "That  is  my  pledge  —  a  fair  white  pledge  —  not  to 
go  backward  on  the  road  we  are  walking.  In  one  year  — 
two  years  —  a  thousand  men  and  women  will  face  sunwise 

[202] 


DERVAILii^NANClAR 


aoout  the  circle  where  we  alone  stand  now.  You  will  be 
the  honored  priest  of  divinings,  the  thousands  will  give 
you  their  strength  when  their  fear  is  lifted  — and  lifted 
it  will  be  if  you  show  me  the  time  and  the  road  for  Tara." 

"That  will  come  —  and  strife  will  come  —  and  terrors. 
Great  hostings  will  come,  and  kings  will  fall;  but  you  will 
live  through  all,  and  your  name  —  your  name  —  it  is  a 
name  whispered  secretly  now,  but  in  days  to  come  there 
will  be  shouting  of  that  name  —  Dervail  —  Dervail —- 
Dervail!" 

His  speech  was  half  whispered,  and  he  said  her  name 
as  if  repeating  echoes  of  it  afar  off.  A  faint  smile  was  on 
his  lips  and  his  face  serene. 

For  the  first  time  Ardan  spoke. 

"  For  what  reason  is  Tara  the  key  to  any  greatness  when 
Tara  itself  was  cursed  by  Ruadan  the  saint,  and  is  deserted 
ground,  and  crumbling  walls  in  our  day?" 

Duffagan  did  not  at  once  make  reply.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  drawn  out  of  hearing.  Then  he  came  back  and  spoke. 

"  Tara  even  in  desolation  is  a  word  of  power.  Images  of 
greatness  belong  in  that  place  — and  some  mortals  see 
them!  Tara  is  the  mid-court  of  dominion,  and  the  Ard-Ri 
should  face  the  sunrise  from  that  center.  Tara  is  a  symbol, 
as  are  these  things  before  me  symbols  of  the  heavens  and 
the  earthly  life.  By  symbols  spirit  is  caught  in  the  silence 
and  held,  breathless,  for  the  union  with  knowledge.  Tara 
holds  a  message  for  the  woman  or  man  who  would  rule 
Erinn  — and  the  message  cannot  be  carried  to  another. 
Each  finds  there  that  which  his  own  soul  can  circle,,  Der 
vail  has  made  record  that  it  is  the  rule  desired  by  her.  My 
task  is  to  study  stars,  and  phases  of  the  moon,  and  find  the 
safe  time  for  such  journey." 

"Will  he,  my  friend,  be  beside  me?"  asked  Dervail,  and 
Duffagan  peered  at  her  in  the  falling  twilight. 

[203] 


"He  will  not  be  there.  His  road  touches  yours  strangely, 
and  a  veil  between  !  Is  he  of  your  kindred  ? 

"  I  have  no  kindred,"  said  Ardan. 

" I  think  that  is  not  true,"  said  Duffagan,  "for  I  see  you 
bear  shadows  or  burdens  of  kindred." 

"  Where  do  you  see  these  things?  " 

"I  read  it  in  the  leaves  of  your  holly  when  the  flame 
curled  them  into  shapes  before  burning;  if  not  kindred  to 
Dervail,  it  is  to  some  mortal  close  to  Dervail." 

"  We  are  going,  Duffagan,"  she  said.  "  The  dark  will  be 
coming,  and  the  spies  of  Tiernan  on  the  road.  I  come  to 
the  sunset  of  Beltain  because  of  your  prayers  here,  and  in 
other  days  many  will  follow  me." 

"  They  will,"  he  said.  "  I  hear  the  voices  of  many  calling 
your  name." 

He  held  his  hands  out  over  her  head  in  blessing,  and 
made  gesture  of  the  way  they  should  circle  the  altar  and 
the  path  of  descent.  He  did  not  look  at  them  again,  and 
as  they  passed  without  the  great  circle  they  looked  back. 
He  was  holding  at  arms'  length  the  hoop  of  the  hazel,  and 
looking  through  it  at  the  faint  silver  line  of  the  new  moon 
against  the  dark  purple  of  the  western  sky. 

Dervail  drew  near  to  Ardan,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
as  if  to  know  a  mortal  beside  her,  for  red  light  from  the 
sun  long  gone  reflected  itself  on  a  cloud  in  midheaven  and 
fell  on  Duffagan.  It  turned  his  robe  and  the  stones  about 
him  into  soft  light  of  flame  —  and  left  a  strange  image. 

"  It  is  as  if  a  furnace  of  fire  had  opened  at  his  feet,  light 
ing  him  only,  and  leaving  all  the  other  pillars  in  cold  gray," 
said  Ardan,  as  he  watched  the  light  fade  again. 

"Strange  signs  follow  Duffagan,  or,  does  his  thought 
compel  them?  He  has  fasted  since  set  of  last  night's  sun, 
and  will  have  no  feast  until  tomorrow.  All  this  he  does 
for  the  craft  he  follows." 

[204] 


DERVAlliliNANClAR 


"His  belief  is  strong  as  though  his  birth  had  been  in 
Phadraig's  day,  and  not  in  this,"  said  Ardan.  "It  is  a 
strange  end  to  my  last  day  with  you,  Dervail." 

She  pressed  his  arm  and  walked  beside  him  into  the 
shadows  of  the  wood. 

"  Make  me  a  song  of  this  place,  Ardan.  A  song  of  the 
old,  old  days  when  sharp  edges  were  yet  on  these  great 
stones,  and  this  hill  was  saffron  and  white  with  the  robes 
of  Ancient  Faith  people." 

"  That  is  far  to  go  for  a  song,  Dervail.  I  have  made  you 
songs  most  of  my  years,  but  this  is  not  the  place  I  would 
seek  for  songs  of  you,  lest  they  be  sad  songs." 

The  wife  of  Tiernan  peered  at  him  from  under  her 
golden  mane. 

"  Is  it  fear  on  you,  Ardan?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  not  fear,  but  this  mystic  hill  is  not  a  place 
to  seek  lightly  on  the  eve  of  Beltain. " 

"What  could  come  to  us?"  she  asked  and  clung  to  his 
arm.  "  Ardan  —  many  times  you  have  come  close  in  my 
thoughts  of  old  in  my  dreams.  But  the  words  of  Duf- 
fagan  of  the  veil  between  —  what  meant  he  by  that  ?  Look, 
Ardan,  what  other  man  would  not  turn  warm  when  my 
warm  hand  touched  him?  Yet  you  are  cold;  what  is  it, 
Ardan?  Did  some  veil  indeed  fall  between  at  that  altar? 
See,  my  hand  did  not  touch  you  as  we  went  up  ;  yet  were 
we  more  close  than  now,  Ardan." 

"Duffagan  has  given  you  dreams  and  fears,  and  it  is 
best  not  to  speak  of  them  now  in  this  place,"  he  said. 

"What  could  come  to  us?"  she  repeated. 

"  What  could  not  ?  Is  that  altar  jewel  you  wear  so  holy 
that  it  is  strong  enough  to  guard  you  in  all  places?" 

She  drew  away  and  stared  at  him,  and  drew  her  robe 
more  closely  over  her  breast. 

"Have  you  'the  sight,'  Ardan?  Times  are  when  I  think 

[205] 


DERVAlLlMiNANClAR 


it.  You  know  that  great  jewel  of  white  diamond  and  red 
ruby?" 

"  I  heard  of  it  at  Armagh.  It  was  the  wondrous  star  of 
Clonard,  and  strange  wealth  to  wear  riding  the  forest." 

She  laughed  at  that,  and  shook  forward  the  gold  of  her 
hair  over  her  breast.  They  were  again  near  to  Kauth, 
who  stood  with  the  horses. 

"Tiernan  forbade  that  the  altar  jewels  see  the  light  of 
day  in  his  absence,"  she  confessed.  "  But  what  use  has  a 
pilgrim  of  penitence  with  gems  of  richness?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  but  helped  her  on  the  horse.  The 
question  of  the  jewel  had  changed  the  momentary  love- 
light  in  her  eyes,  or  the  claim  of  warmth  for  warmth.  He 
knew  she  had  been  touched  by  fear  in  the  druid  circle,  and 
it  had  driven  her  to  his  arms  if  he  would  have  her  there. 

Kauth  looked  at  them  as  they  came  down,  but  had  no 
question.  Though  drawn  to  Duffagan  as  a  mate  for  his 
comfort,  she  had  no  wish  to  know  the  secret  things  of  his 
dark  delvings. 

They  rode  hard  and  fast  until  in  sight  of  the  castle,  and 
then  Ardan  spoke. 

"  I  will  carry  your  message  south,  Dervail,  and  I  will  go 
tonight  instead  of  on  the  morrow.  I  have  seen  your  hopes 
and  your  dark  road  to  them." 

"  And  your  thoughts  are  baleful  and  apart  from  me ! " 

"No.  Call  on  me  for  that  which  I  dare  to  serve  you. 
But  you  have  taken  yourself  out  of  the  world  we  know 
together.  It  may  be  I  cannot  follow.  Your  strange  Duf 
fagan  says  there  is  a  veil  between  our  roads  of  life  —  and 
neither  of  us  can  prove  that  this  day.  But  take  deep 
thought  to  what  you  do,  Dervail.  Duffagan  spoke  of  sym 
bols,  and  I  saw  one  when  you  offered  the  white-feathered 
thing  there  for  the  altar  knife." 

"Ardan,  what  did  you  see?"  and  he  knew  she  was 

[206] 


DERVAILMNANCIAR 

thinking  of  that  strange  crowded  feeling  within  the  circle. 
The  unlaid  ghosts  of  the  centuries  swept  to  the  altar  at  the 
call  of  blood. 

"  I  saw  the  white  bird  of  a  boy's  dream  of  beauty  in  a 
cloister.  I  saw  the  caged  bird  I  rode  north  to  seek  sight 
of,  and  to  lead  spears  of  aid  to  —  and  I  saw  a  queen  who 
offered  that  bird  as  token  for  ambitions  of  earth  power.  It 
was  only  a  symbol,  Dervail,  but  you  placed  all  in  one 
under  the  knife  there!  Your  white  bird  was  a  symbol 
instead  of  the  children  other  women,  in  other  ages,  have 
borne  up  to  that  druid  rath  for  sacrifice." 

"  Ardan  ! "  and  her  white  hands  were  flung  out  toward 
him.  "  That  will  be  the  veil  between,  and  I  will  be  a  lone 
woman  —  terribly  lone." 

"  You  will  be  queen  of  beauty  and  power,  Dervail.  But 
put  your  all  of  white  dreams  and  of  heart-love  on  that  altar, 
and  you  will  then  indeed  be  alone  in  life  and  in  death ! " 

She  drooped  there,  her  hair  a  veil  about  her  in  the 
gloaming,  and  her  hands  clasped  over  her  knee. 

Two  kerns  ran  out  the  castle  gate  and  stood  with  lights 
at  either  side  to  light  her  entrance.  She  straightened  and 
tossed  back  her  hair,  and  rode  forward  in  pride. 

"  Yet  the  dream  of  Tara  is  a  great  dream  for  a  life,"  she 
said. 


harvest  of  the  year  was  not  yet  garnered  wHen 
the  pearl  of  Dervail  went  south  to  Diarmod  of 
Leinster  by  the  hand  of  Duffagan. 

It  found  him  flushed  with  the  victory  of  Moanmore 
against  Turlough  O'Brian,  and  strong  with  the  thought 

[207] 


DERVAlCTlNAN 


that  O'Conor  of  Connaught  owed  him  and  owed  Meath  too 
much  of  grace  to  lift  sword  or  spear  if  the  sacking  of 
Clonard  Abbey  by  O'Ruarc  was  avenged  at  last  by  the 
lords  of  Leinster. 

In  every  secret  way  Diarmod  and  Malachi,  Prince  of 
Meath,  had  gathered  strength  and  made  bonds  in  friend 
ship  for  that  hosting  when  the  time  came,  and  the  mes 
senger  of  Dervail  told  the  day  O'Ruarc  was  going  north 
on  a  hosting  of  his  own  against  a  rebellious  sub-chief  who 
had  taken  sides  with  O'Lochlainn  of  Ulster  in  his  claims 
to  the  rule  of  Ard-Ri  of  Erinn  as  against  Turlough 
O'Conor,  whose  word  was  the  most  weighty  in  all  but  the 
northlands. 

The  days  of  going  and  the  days  of  return  had  been  reck 
oned  with  care  by  Duffagan,  and  there  were  plenty  for  the 
task. 

As  to  a  joyous  fair  rode  the  men  of  the  spears  of 
Diarmod,  and  he,  kingly  in  pride,  in  the  midst  of  them. 
Years  sat  light  on  him,  for  the  message  of  Dervail  had 
brought  back  his  youth.  It  had  come  at  a  time  when  the 
music  of  life  was  dulled  by  the  discords  of  rule,  and  the 
watchful  eyes  of  Conor,  the  heir-apparent.  But  the  dream 
of  the  forbidden  maid  brought  deep  longings,  and  her 
secret  call  to  him  brought  again  the  fairy  songs  of  youth 
to  his  soul. 

Fierce  was  the  assault  on  Breffni,  and  lightning  quick 
the  conquest  of  the  castle  where  Kauth  had  seen  to  it  that 
every  lock  was  loosed. 

No  woman  was  touched  but  the  wife  of  O'Ruarc,  who 
was  bidden  forth  with  her  chosen  woman,  as  hostage  to 
Diarmod  of  Leinster. 

In  garb  royal,  clad  in  the  cloak  of  seven  colors,  walked 
Dervail  out  from  under  the  roof  of  the  prince  who  had  been 
her  Key! 

[208] 


DERVAIL  ^H NAN  GAR 


The  men  of  Lcinster  and  Meath  gave  long  looks  to  her 
as  she  walked  between  the  rows  of  them  to  the  champing 
racer  straining  on  his  bit,  and  their  eyes  turned  to  each 
other,  dazzled  by  the  brilliant  beauty  of  her.  No  such 
hostage  had  ever  been  given  from  prince  to  king  in 
Erinn. 

It  was  the  hand  of  Diarmod  touched  her  foot  in  the 
mounting,  and  they  two  were  speechless  as  their  hands 
met.  It  was  the  wild  dream  coming  true,  and  the  stars 
read  by  Duffagan  had  all  her  faith  in  that  moment ! 

Kauth  mounted  her  horse,  and  among  her  goods  fas 
tened  to  the  saddle  was  the  gift-cup  given  by  hand  of 
Diarmod  in  the  castle  of  Donough.  The  sight  of  it  helped 
Dervail  to  her  voice. 

"  It  has  not  been  drunk  from  under  that  roof,"  she  said, 
"but  now  we  will  be  drinking  from  it  again  —  and  at  the 
well  of  Nemnach  in  Tara  we  will  drink." 

"Your  word  is  the  word  —  and  will  be,"  said  Diarmod 
the  king. 


URTAGH»  King  of  Meath,  knew  nought  of  the 
hosting  until  the  spears  of  Leinster  were  north  of 
Ath-Luain,  and  there  was  none  for  comfort  but 
Donough  of  Orielle  —  and  him  only  with  the  hope  that 
Dervail  would  seek  shelter  from  all  men  in  the  abbey  of 
Mellifont. 

But  Malachi,  Prince  of  Meath,  rode  back  the  richer  for 
the  plundering  of  Breffni,  and  spoke  his  content  at  the 
sisterhood  claimed  for  Dervail. 

"  No  queen  so  queenly  in  Erinn,"  he  made  boast,  "  and 
it  is  a  foolish  thing  to  hide,  as  you  have  hid  —  her  daugh- 

[209] 


DERVAILIiitNAN  CIAR 


terhood  !  Take  pride  that  she  is  of  our  line,  even  though 
a  shadow  is  on  her  dam  —  whom  no  one  is  knowing !  She 
will  yet  be  queen  for  Diarmod  —  and  our  house  remem 
bered  because  of  her  name." 

"  That  has  been  a  long,  dark,  fear  of  mine  ! "  said  Mur- 
tagh  the  king. 

But  Malachi  had  no  knowledge  of  the  secret  held  by  the 
older  man,  and  thought  it  a  foolish  saying. 

"Meath  has  been  made  strong  for  us  by  this  act,"  he 
boasted.  "The  troubles  of  yours  with  the  clerics  will  be 
at  an  end,  for  Diarmod  has  made  pledges  for  Meath.  From 
Clonard  to  the  Shannon  you  are  to  be  protected  by  hos 
tage  ;  from  Clonard  eastward  to  the  sea  I  am  to  divide  the 
rule.  This  makes  stronger  the  border  ;  thus  much  of  gain 
already  for  your  tie  —  whatever  it  be  —  with  the  wife 
of  Breffni."  " 

Murtagh  frowned  at  the  words  and  walked  apart,  deep 
in  thought  ere  he  spoke. 

"  I  wish  death  in  peace,"  he  said,  "  and  I  can  have  that 
best  by  forgetting  the  tie.  Pray  God  she  makes  choice 
of  a  cloister!" 

But  she  made  choice  of  a  different  thing ;  from  the  rath 
of  Malachi,  whom  she  now  called  "  brother,"  she  went  for 
some  secret  thing  to  the  ancient  rath  of  the  Kings  at 
Tara  on  Midsummer's  Eve.  There  went  Diarmod  to  keep 
tryst  with  her,  and  drink  from  the  well  of  Nemnach. 

Until  the  morning  star  shone  over  the  plain  to  the  east 
they  were  alone  on  the  height  where  his  forefathers  had 
been  high  kings  through  the  centuries,  and  the  look  on 
his  face  was  a  look  of  enhancement  when  he  came  down 
from  that  place,  and  Dervail  beside  him. 

"  She  is  my  mate,  and  no  woman  before  has  been  that 
to  me,"  he  said  to  Malachi.  "  The  clerics  must  find  a  way 
for  it,  for  she  is  queen  to  me." 

[210] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR 


Yet,  because  of  fear  for  her  at  the  hands  of  Conor,  the 
son  of  Mor,  who  was  moving  toward  death,  he  took  her 
not  among  his  own  children  at  Ferns,  but  in  gorgeousness 
and  much  comfort  placed  her  in  the  castle  of  O'Faelain  in 
Kildare  with  a  loyal  guard,  and  the  hostages  of  a  prin 
cess  claimed  for  her  safety  from  Rhudri,  lord  of  the  castle. 

Thus  came  the  daughter  of  Dyveke  south  into  the  region 
where  the  Danes  had  their  holdings  under  Leinster,  and 
where  her  mother  had  cursed  the  land,  and  all  kings  and 
all  clans  of  Erinn! 


0REAT  wealth  had  been  taken  out  of  Breffni  by 
Leinster  —  not   only   her   own   dower   wealth,   but 
rich  plunderings  of  Clonard,  and  the  droves  of  cat 
tle  taken  were  the  wonder  of  the  country  in  crossing. 

Like  fire  in  the  forest  after  falling  of  the  leaves  ran  the 
story  of  that  hosting,  and  of  the  vengeance  on  Breffni  for 
the  sacking  of  Clonard.  Murtagh  of  Meath,  and  Donough 
of  Orielle,  and  Duighal  the  prior  went  into  prayer  and 
deep  converse  over  it.  All  things  within  human  power  had 
been  done  by  them  for  the  hiding  of  Dervail  —  yet  had  she 
ridden  free  and  set  their  world  afire ! 

But  prayers  of  piety  could  do  naught  to  stem  the  flood 
of  rage  unloosed  by  her  ambitions  and  the  pillaging  of 
Breffni.  Turlough  O'Conor,  the  high  king,  took  sides 
with  O'Ruarc.  Erinn  was  divided  in  the  struggle.  The 
enemies  made  by  Diarmod  in  his  proud  domination  turned 
their  spears  against  him,  and  annihilation  threatened  on 
every  side.  Turlough,  the  High  King,  sent  a  priest  to  de 
liver  the  doom  of  Leinster  unless  Dervail  and  her  dower 

[211] 


DERVAILimNANCIAR 


were  returned  to  O'Ruarc  of  Breffni.  And  troops  of  Breffni 
followed  the  messenger. 

Diarmod  raged  like  a  wounded  bull. 

"My  men  will  die  for  her,  though  they  may  not  save 
her,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  be  the  one  to  make  choice ;  that 
is  hers  to  make.  But  the  army  of  Turlough  and  Breffni 
have  crossed  the  Shannon." 


of  O'Faelain  came  riding  a  foaming  steed, 
and  stumbled,  dazed  and  spent,  before  Diarmod. 
"  My  plea  is  to  serve  you  in  some  other  way,"  he 
begged.  "  More  than  my  troops  are  needed  in  the  guarding 
of  Queen  Dervail  for  you.  Her  name  has  carried  on  the 
wind  to  strange  places,  even  to  the  cells  of  monks  in  the 
wilderness.  One  of  them,  old  and  blind,  and  housed  for 
charity  in  my  hall,  made  his  way  in  secret  to  her  chair,  an 
evil  knife  under  his  monk's  robe,  and  —  " 

"Harm  to  Dervail?"  thundered  Diarmod,  and  the 
speaker  quailed— "the  lives  of  your  household  will 
answer  ! " 

"  No  harm  has  come  to  her  beyond  the  baleful  deed  done 
under  her  eyes.  Her  dark  friend,  Duff agan,  gave  his  blood 
instead  of  hers,  and  wounded  the  monkish  murderer  to  the 
death.  But  the  dying  monk  said  some  things  of  horror  for 
her  ears,  and  all  who  lavished  courtesies  on  that  fair  lady 
now  flee  from  her!  It  is  a  mystery— like  rats  seeking 
holes,  they  scatter  as  I  turn  my  back.  To  save  her  there 
in  life  and  dignity  is  beyond  the  power  of  man  without 
guards  —  without  servants." 

"What  is  their  fear?" 

[212] 


DERVAIL^iNANCIAR 


"  They  will  not  voice  it.  May  happen  it  is  the  death  of 
the  monk,  or  his  words  not  heard  by  me.  It  may  be  the 
death  of  Duffagan  of  whom  they  had  great  awe.  At  her 
feet  it  is  he  died,  and  her  own  robe  red  with  the  blood  of 
them  both,  yet  there  was  no  shrinking  of  her  and  no 
scream." 

"  She  is  a  fitting  queen,  and  royal  her  daring,"  muttered 
Leinster,  "  and  it  is  a  baleful  task  to  speak  any  going  back 
ward  on  the  road  for  her !  There  is  none  to  bear  that  word 
but  one  friend,  and  he  would  be  loth,  though  constant. 
You,  Donall,  send  to  Glendalough  for  Ardan,  the  fosterling 
of  Donough." 

The  lord  of  O'Faelain  put  out  his  hand  to  stay  the  son  of 
Diarmod. 

"That  message  has  gone  on  swift  feet,"  he  said.     "It 
was  the  first  request  of  Queen  Dervail." 
"  Gone  ?   And  for  what  purpose  ?  " 

Donall  the  Illegitimate  looked  at  him  and  gave  quiet 
but  scornful  laughter. 

"Ardan  has  a  good  shape  and  good  looks,"  he  said. 
The  great  hand  of  Diarmod  smote  him  on  the  mouth, 
and  the  dirk  of  Diarmod  was  out. 

Conor,  the  heir-apparent,  caught  his  arm  and  was  flung 
aside,  and  Rhudri  of  O'Faelain  stepped  between. 

"  Take  time  with  you  in  counsel,  Diarmod,  ere  you  slay 

a  son  for  sake  of  a  hostage  you  will  be  forced  to  return." 

"Hostage?"  said  Diarmod,  glowering. 

"Is  not  that  word  the  right  word?"  asked  Rhudri.    "It 

is  the  only  one  used  for  our  queen  guest  in  our  keep. 

Connaught  and  Breffni  are  moving  their  troops  to  win  her 

return,  for  the  loss  of  Dervail  is  a  greater  blow  to  the  pride 

of  O'Ruarc  than  the  loss  of  Longford  and  Leitrim.    Is  not 

hostage  the  wise  word?    Hostages  are  ever  to  be  given 

back  again,  and  in  safety." 

[213] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  GAR 


"  She  was  hostage  of  Destiny  to  me,  and  not  to  be  given 
back  ever  in  life,"  said  Diarmod. 

Conor  got  Donall,  with  his  bleeding  mouth,  out  of  the 
hall,  and  Diarmod  sat  steeped  in  gloom,  turning  over  in 
his  mind  the  attack  on  the  life  of  Dervail.  The  word 
"  hostage  "  as  applied  to  her  to  cover  her  flight  was  a  bit 
ter  word  and  —  heavier  than  all  —  the  thought  of  her  going 
again  out  of  his  life,  and  she  the  glory  of  his  dream  of 
kingship  over  Erinn! 

He  arose,  frowning,  and  with  set  jaws. 

"No  other  must  tell  her  since  it  must  be  told.  I  ride 
with  you." 


aRDAN  was  first  at  the  castle  of  O'Faelain,  and  there 
was  sickness  on  his  soul  for  what  he  met  in  that 
place. 

Herdsmen  and  kern,  ploughman  and  smith,  raged 
like  a  sea  of  storm  about  the  walls  of  Faelain,  and  the 
name  of  Dervail  was  shouted  in  hate  heard  even  at  a 
distance.  At  times  it  would  die  away  to  a  murmur,  and 
then  some  wild  voice  would  shrill  aloud  and  the  wave 
of  sound  would  again  roll  upward  — "  Dervail  the 
Shadow!  Dervail  of  dark  crafts!  Dervail,  the  curse  of 
Leinster!" 

At  sight  of  the  scholar's  robe  of  Ardan  and  the  foam-wet 
steed,  the  mob  made  way,  and  held  parley. 

"  Be  our  spokesman  to  the  white  slut  who  is  harlot 
of  two  kingdoms,"  they  said,  "  and  we  will  let  you  pass 
safely.  You  are  of  the  cells  — they  will  let  you  speak. 
Tell  the  woman,  and  tell  the  governor,  that  none  of 

[214] 


our  men  will  fight  to  hold  her  for  Diarmod.  The  High 
King  of  Erinn  is  against  him,  and  much  of  Leinster  is 
against  him.  A  free  road  to  her  if  she  takes  the 
Breffni  way;  and  death  on  her  if  she  makes  a  stand  in 
Kildare!  A  holy  man  is  done  to  death  in  there  by  her 
dark  comrade,  and  the  curse  of  all  saints  is  against  her 
forever  for  that!  .Dervail!  Dervail,  the  malediction  of 
men!'* 

They  let  him  pass,  and  inside  the  gates  white,  stricken 
faces  turned  to  him.  The  guard  held  spear  and  battle-axe 
against  a  rush  of  the  crazed  household.  They  pointed 
dumbly  within  when  he  spoke  the  name  of  Dervail.  Only 
one  man  of  the  guard  led  the  way,  and  he  halted  at  the 
portal  of  her  chamber. 

A  horrid  weeping  was  heard  within,  quivering  sobbing 
and  choking.  It  was  the  woman  Kauth,  who  had  seen 
Duffagan  dragged  into  the  court  below,  and  there  hung 
in  ghastly  manner  against  the  castle  wall  for  the  killing  of 
Kieran  Dall. 

But  the  more  ghastly  thing  was  that  Kieran  had  not 
yet  died.  He  was  coming  out  of  a  swoon  of  pain,  and 
was  prodded  by  Dervail,  who  sat  beside  him,  dagger  in 
hand,  and  steadily,  in  a  dull,  weary  tone,  making  ques 
tion. 

"  You  lie,  monk,  but  I  would  have  you  damn  your  soul 
with  other  lie  at  the  last  breath !  What  reason  to  ban  my 
race  more  than  the  race  of  another?  What  reason  to  ban 
my  mother?  Speak  ere  I  rack  your  wounds !  What  reason 
—  blind  monk?" 

"The  reason  —  the  reason  —  Dyveke  —  is  —  proving  — 
itself  —  in  you!  Your  hand  gave  death  —  to  him  —  to  the 
father  of  your  child,  ere  you  went  to  your  lover  Thorold, 
fierce  Dyveke ! " 

"  Again  you  lie  yourself  to  hell !    The  name  Dyveke  is  a 

[215] 


name  I  never  heard;  I  am  a  queen  —  Dervail  the  queen! 
Speak  again  the  name  of  the  race  of  the  father  of  Dervail 

—  speak!" 

The  woman  Kauth  never  ceased  the  dreary,  smothered 
keione  of  despairing,  but  neither  Dervail  nor  the  man 
with  the  black  wounds  gave  heed.  He  had  again  sunk 
half  out  of  life,  and  the  breath  of  him  was  a  hollow 
rattle. 

"  Speak,  monk! "  And  again  the  prick  of  the  knife  was 
in  his  flesh.  "You  said  it;  say  it  again!  The  race  of 
ancient  kings?  The  branch  sanctified  in  secret  ways?  It 
exalts  me,  that  blood  — and  you  shall  speak  !  I  am  Dervail 

—  I  would  know  of  that  race.    Speak!    Speak  again!" 
There  was  a  struggle,  a  twitching  of  the  body,  and  a 

whisper. 

"The  race  — dies  out!  Hark  you!  I  hear  wild  waves 
on  the  shore ;  they  are  shouting  curses  —  hark  you !  Der 
vail —  Dervail!  Dervail!  The  world  rocks  with  that  name 
of  evil  — 

For  eric  in  breaking 

A  thousand  years*  yoke 

On  the  bent  neck    -    -    of  Erinn! 

A    -    -    thousand  years'  tribute  of  blood 

-    -    -    Inis  Fair !" 

Then  there  was  only  the  rattle  — and  after  that  no  whis 
per,  and  his  head  lolled  sideways  and  was  pricked  by  the 
dagger  to  no  good.  And  Ardan  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
at  sight  of  the  thing  she  did,  and  caught  her  hand  in 
horror. 

"  Dervail !    He  has  gone  to  God  —  and  was  a  holy  man ! " 

"He  has  gone  to  hell  — and  was  a  liar!    Also  he  was  a 

cheat  !    He  died  too  soon,  not  telling  all  — only  fragments 

of  his  hate  for  me.    He  brought  death  to  Duffagan,  and 

[216] 


DERVAIL  t^lNAN  CIAR 


he  brought  that  pack  of  wolves  howling  below — and  with 
out  Duffagan  the  road  I  crave  is  a  dark  way  for  me!  Is 
Diarmod  dead  that  these  things  are?" 

It  had  been  a  long  night  and  a  morning  she  had  sat  there 
with  her  blind  victim,  and  she  viewed  his  dead  face  with 
disdain.  And  from  weariness  she  was  as  in  a  daze.  She 
looked  at  the  blackened  dagger,  and  again  at  Kieran  Dall. 

"Who  was  he  that  a  place  was  made  for  him  at  the 
table  of  a  noble?"  she  asked.  "Who  was  he  that  he  was 
filled  with  hate  against  me  in  the  lands  of  Leinster?  " 

"  He  was  a  prince  whose  name  was  hidden  under  the 
robe,  Dervail." 

"Learn  all  for  me  and  tell  me!  He  made  speech  of 
things  to  madden  my  soul!  I  want  Diarmod,  and  I  want 
you  to  go  to  him!  Hearken  to  the  cries  down  there!  It 
has  been  since  sunrise  —  and  ever  more  coming.  Hearken 
to  my  name  !  Dervail !  Dervail ! " 

"  That  is  the  thing  prophesied  by  Duffagan,  whom  they 
call  your  *  Dark  Comrade. '  He  told  you  in  Breffni  he  heard 
the  echoes  of  your  name  in  countless  voices  on  the  winds." 

"  That  is  true,"  and  she  crouched  there  looking  over  her 
shoulder  at  him  in  a  strange  and  fearful  way;  "but  —  but 
Ardan  —  this  calling  is  in  hate!  They  are  not  human 
beings  down  there  —  they  are  a  hunting  pack,  howling  for 
victim!" 

"They  are  mortals,  indeed,  Dervail,  but  they  are  made 
mad  by  fear.  An  army  of  men  are  bearing  shields  against 
Leinster  for  the  sake  erf  you,  and  there  is  only  one  road  of 
life  and  safety  open  for  your  feet." 

"And  that  road,  Ardan?" 

"  That  road  is  north  into  Breffni." 

"No!  Not  with  Diarmod  for  my  safety;  not  with  his 
words  of  bondage  still  sounding  in  my  ear ! " 

She  rose  to  her  feet  as  if  the  very  words  gave  strength 

[217] 


DERVAILIMRNANCIAR 


to  her,  and  her  eyes  looked  proud  even  while  her  face  went 
pale  at  the  louder  screams  of  fierceness  down  below. 

"  Dervail,  that  dream  has  died  with  your  Dark  Comrade ; 
such  is  my  thought.  Diarmod  is  no  longer  safety  for  you. 
His  own  life  he  may  not  be  saving.  Between  you  two,  all 
Leinster  and  Meath  can  be  made  desolate." 

"What  then?  When  he  is  triumphant,  more  than 
Leinster  may  be  his.  His  vows  to  me  were  made  in  Tara, 
and  who  more  fit  than  he  to  rule  again  in  the  ancient  place 
of  the  great  kings?  No!  The  dreams  did  not  end  with 
Duffagan  —  they  endure!  Beside  Diarmod  I  will  ride  to 
find  them ! " 

Ardan  turned  to  Kauth. 

"Bring  cover  for  the  dead,"  he  said,  "and  robe  your 
queen  for  a  dreary  journey  —  and  a  speedy  one." 

Kauth  covered  the  dead  face  of  Kieran  and  then  backed, 
sullen  and  defiant,  against  the  wall. 

"  I  have  no  queen  in  this  place,"  she  said.  "  Because  of 
her,  Duffagan  is  beheaded,  and  his  head  on  a  pike  below. 
I  saw  what  I  saw  done  on  that  holy  man  who  is  dead,  and 
I  hear  what  you  hear  below  in  the  shoutings.  I  think  it  is 
truth  they  tell  down  there  in  their  cries  —  she  is  a  maledic 
tion!  Death  to  all  is  her  one  thought,  so  that  she  walks 
safe  —  that  is  her  thought.  In  thrall  to  her  was  held 
Tiernan  and  Duffagan  —  they  were  a  bridge  for  her  feet. 
But  I  am  no  longer  in  thrall  to  her!  I  have  seen  unholy 
and  unlucky  things,  and  the  words  of  dead  Kieran  are  a 
curse  against  Dervail  for  always.  If  you,  Lord  Ardan, 
are  brave  to  walk  beside  her  now  —  you  are  the  only  man 
brave  enough  for  it." 

"  Madness  has  fallen  on  her,"  said  Dervail.  "  The  death 
of  her  man  took  her  little  wit." 

"  Not  all  of  it,"  said  Kauth,  who  had  a  most  evil  look 
with  her  red  eyes  and  swollen  face,  and  her  grin  of  malice. 

[218] 


DERVAILMNANClAfr 


"This  is  the  one  man  who  never  took  the  gift  of  you  at 
your  offer  —  and  he  is  the  only  one  of  all  your  lovers 
to  brave  your  enemies  to  reach  you  this  day  of  your 
days.'* 

"Go!"  screamed  Dervail  in  white  fury.  "Scullion, 
whom  I  lifted  and  strove  to  make  human!  Join  your 
mates  below  ere  I  have  you  thrown  to  them  from  the 
battlements ! " 

The  woman  slunk  to  the  far  end  of  the  room  of  shadows, 
but  cowered  there,  fearful  of  going  down  to  the  screaming 
mob.  Dervail  turned  away  and  covered  her  ears  with 
white,  jeweled  hands  to  shut  out  the  clamor. 

"Ardan,"  she  whispered,  "it  is  not  all  a  lie  she  tells. 
They  have  scurried  away  from  me  like  rats  after  a  singe 
ing  !  Rhudri  of  the  Faelain  has  gone,  and  every  woman 
of  them  is  out  of  sight. " 

"I  know  the  truth  of  that,"  he  said,  "for  the  men  of  the 
woodland  are  bearing  brush  and  straw  and  great  timbers. 
They  will  smoke  you  out  unless  you  take  the  Breffni  road 
with  me,  and  the  choice  must  be  now." 

" The  choice?"  she  muttered,  and  walked  wildly  from 
window  to  window  looking  down  on  the  horrid,  waiting, 
upturned  faces.  "The  choice?  Ardan— -soul  of  me  al 
ways  !  Yours  was  the  choice  for  me,  and  mine  the  rebel 
lious  heart  !  Yours  was  the  true  vision,  for  the  vision  of 
Duffagan  has  led  me  here  to  this  trap  !  Yours  was  the 
hand  I  should  have  held  to  ;  yours  was  the  white  way  for 
me,  Ardan,  the  white  way  of  the  sun;  and  I  am  at  last 
saying  it  ! " 

She  flung  herself  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  tears  of  self- 
pity  touched  his  hand  as  he  took  her  in  gentleness  toward 
the  seat  by  the  window. 

But  the  seat  was  not  reached,  for  the  reason  that 
Diarmod  and  O'Faelain  came  into  the  room  at  that  min- 

C2J9] 


DERVAILI^NANCIAR 


ute,  and  Diarmod,  in  a  rush  of  rage,  caught  the  shoulder 
of  Dervail  and  flung  her  until  she  stumbled  and  fell  across 
the  dead  body  of  Kieran. 

"  The  shouts  below  are  the  shouts  of  the  prophets,"  he 
said,  "O  royal  harlot,  who,  in  making  choice,  passes  no 
man  by ! " 

Ardan  turned  toward  the  king  with  lifted  hand  of  pro 
test,  and  Diarmod  whipped  out  his  dirk  at  that  moment 
and  thrust  downward  a  mighty  blow. 

"  You  to  the  white  way  of  your  choice ! "  he  said.  "  You 
to  your  white  road  —  the  two  of  you  ! " 

Ardan  fell  under  the  weight  of  the  blow,  and  blood 
stained  his  white  garment,  but  a  strange  thing  chanced  at 
his  falling,  for  the  dagger  was  caught  and  wrested  from 
the  king's  hand. 

"A  deep  stroke,  Diarmod,  and  an  unlucky  one.  The 
youth  is  under  misjudgment;  my  faith  on  that!"  said 
O'Faelain,  lifting  Ardan  and  tearing  open  the  white  under 
garment. 

He  crossed  himself  at  what  he  saw  there  —  and  it  was 
strange  enough. 

The  slender  blade  of  the  king  did  not  go  deep  for  the 
reason  that  the  point  was  bedded  in  a  golden  ring,  and  the 
ring  on  a  golden  flat  chain  fastened  around  the  neck  of 
Ardan. 

O'Faelain  undid  the  chain  and  handed  it  to  Diarmod 
with  the  dagger  pendant. 

"God  and  Mary  have  no  wish  that  you  do  murder  or 
vengeance  for  this  woman  —  and  the  sign  of  it  is  here," 
he  said. 

Ardan  struggled  to  his  feet  —  bloodstained  and  pale,  his 
hand  staunching  the  wound. 

"You  have  robbed  me  of  a  thing  precious,"  he  said. 
"  To  a  king  and  a  lord  of  Erinn  it  can  have  little  worth, 

[220] 


DERVAILi^NANCIAR 


but  as  for  me,  if  it  is  my  time  to  die,  I  would  wish  to  go 
into  death  with  that  token." 

Diarmod  looked  from  the  gold  ring  on  which  there  was 
graven  a  circled  star  and  words  in  ogham  and  as  his  eyes 
met  Ardan's  eyes,  he  was  more  blanched  than  Ardan,  and 
his  voice  was  husky  and  strange. 

"  How  is  this  precious  to  you  —  this  thing  more  ancient 
than  you  can  know?"  he  asked. 

"It  was  on  the  breast  of  my  mother  at  her  death,  and 
more  than  that  I  do  not  know.  Dall  Clairineach  bade  me 
use  it  as  a  token  to  any  king  of  Leith  Mogh  if  danger 
threatened  me.  For  myself  I  would  not  use  it  —  but  if  it 
has  virtue  I  will  use  it  that  Dervail  the  queen  rides  safe." 

"She  will  ride  free,"  said  Diarmod  in  a  dull,  strange 
way.  "Look,  Rhudri  —  see  my  punishment." 

O'Faelain  looked,  and  crossed  himself,  and  lifted  the 
hand  of  Ardan  to  his  lips. 

"O  perfect  prince  —  and  the  first  born,"  he  said,  "you 
are  a  grace,  and  no  punishment." 

Dervail  leaned  forward,  breathless  at  the  words  and  at 
the  look  of  Diarmod:  she  was  forgotten  by  him  and  by 
O'Faelain.  Their  eyes  saw  only  Ardan. 

"You  knew  your  mother?"  asked  Diarmod. 

"  I  did  not  know  her.  Death  took  her.  Dall  Clairineach 
alone  knew  my  blood,  and  he  gave  me  no  word.  I  am  of 
his  clan  —  so  I  am  thinking." 

"  You  are  of  the  race  of  Conaire  Mor,  and  your  mother 
was  Dhira  of  the  Dark  Hair  whom  they  forced  from  me 
and  hid  away  —  a  veiled  woman!  None  told  me  there  was 
a  son,  but  her  son  could  be  only  mine.  You  are  the  heir 
of  my  youth." 

"  Dhira ! "  said  Dervail,  her  head  thrust  forward  like  a 
golden-headed  serpent  with  its  stroke  of  poison.  "That, 
Ardan,  was  the  nun  he  took  from  sanctuary  —  that  was 

[221] 


DERVAlLliliNANCIAR 


the  thing  of  which  I  told  —  and  the  thing  you  would  not 
give  your  faith  to  —  and  you  the  living  witness ! " 

Ardan  looked  at  Diarmod  in  frowning  question,  and  it 
was  the  eyes  of  Diarmod  that  wavered  and  fell. 

"  This  is  between  these  walls,"  said  Ardan,  and  reached 
his  hand  for  ring  and  chain.  "  Beyond  the  portal  it  is  never 
to  be  spoke.  If  the  token  brings  me  fealty  of  a  guard  I 
will  make  use  of  it  to  lead  this  queen  back  in  safety  to 
her  kingdom." 

"  See  to  it,  Rhudri,"  said  Diarmod.  "  All  that  he  asks 
of  Leinster  is  his.  You  had  my  love,  boy,  and  today  I  am 
knowing  that  her  eyes  were  ever  looking  out  on  me  from 
your  own." 

Ardan  made  no  reply.  He  was  staunching  the  blood 
with  linen  torn  in  strips  by  O'Faelain. 

"  Diarmod,"  spoke  Dervail,  "  has  an  old  love  weakened 
you  to  pleading  for  crumbs?  Is  it  true  that  Turlough 
O'Conor  and  Tiernan  of  Breffni  have  cast  the  shadow  of 
their  spears  against  you  and  weakened  your  courage?  You 
hear  Ardan  say  he  will  guard  me  out  of  your  kingdom,  and 
you  speak  no  word  of  protest?  Did  I  then  ride  south 
beside  you  for  only  a  holiday  or  a  fair?" 

"You  came,  a  stolen  queen  as  hostage,"  said  Diarmod, 
"  that  is  the  tale  to  tell.  The  hours  are  past  for  words  of 
that :  you  must  go  with  the  prince  if  you  would  keep  life  in 
you ;  the  spears  of  two  armies  are  already  across  our  bor 
der  to  force  your  return  to  Breffni.  I  will  have  vengeance 
for  the  loss  of  you  but  that  will  be  on  another  day  —  on 
this  one  there  is  only  flight  in  all  haste  for  you." 

Thus  he  spoke,  but  his  eyes  were  on  Ardan  and  she 
saw  it. 

"You  are  not  Diarmod  the  king  this  day,"  she  said. 
"You  are  only  a  man  in  a  trance  who  has  the  looks  of 
Diarmod.  This  dead  monk  had  devil's  words  of  you,  and 

[222] 


DERVAlLlMiNAMClAR 


of  me.  He  called  me  'Dyveke  the  Dove*  and  said  you 
were  under  gels  to  hold  no  white  birds  under  snare.  He 
had  lies  of  old  magic,  and  a  curse  for  me  in  all  of  them. 
Are  you  knowing  that  baleful  rune  he  mouthed?  Know 
you  that  he  met  his  death  striving  to  do  murder  on 
me?" 

"It  is  known,  and  it  is  a  sorrow,"  said  Diarmod,  "and 
his  is  the  first  death  of  the  many  ere  the  end  comes ;  thus 
has  his  life  paid  for  his  prophecy.  Ulster  will  join  me  to 
war  against  Turlough  and  O'Ruarc;  in  another  year 
Leinster  will  have  allies  and  strength,  and  you  will  again 
ride  south  to  rule." 

"  Your  lips  speak,"  said  Dervail  coldly.  "  You  are  not 
the  king  of  the  night  on  Tara." 

Rhudri  returned  with  a  frightened  maid  and  the  cloak 
of  Dervail. 

"  I  pledge  myself  to  send  your  goods  on  a  morrow,"  he 
said;  "it  cannot  be  now.  While  the  humor  of  the  mob 
gives  sanction  to  your  going,  is  the  time  to  go." 

The  smile  of  Dervail  was  bitter  and  dreary  as  she  looked 
at  the  three  men.  She  was  no  longer  the  first  thought  in 
any  mind  there.  Ardan  the  prince,  and  the  first-born  of 
Diarmod,  was  suddenly  most  wonderful  and  pleasing  in 
the  eyes  of  the  two  men.  Even  the  disdain  of  Ardan  gave 
them  pride  in  him. 

"  You  to  have  royal  rule  when  it  means  naught  to  you ! " 
she  said,  looking  at  him,  "and  I  to  be  robbed  of  it  when 
it  is  breath  of  life  to  me ! " 

"  I  claim  no  rule  — nor  will  I,"  said  Ardan.  "  My  mother 
died  in  sanctuary,  and  thus  will  I.  Enough  sons  are  in 
Leinster  to  divide  the  spoils.  Cover  well  your  head  in  the 
veil,  for  rain  is  falling.  Give  extra  cloak  to  the  maid,  and 
I  ask  grace  for  her,  and  comfort  if  her  courage  lasts 
through  the  trials  of  the  way." 

[223] 


DERVAIL  {MlNANCIAR 


"She  shall  have  honor  that  she  heeds  your  word,  and 
the  children  of  her  shall  have  honor  after  her,  O  prince," 
said  Rhudri  O'Faelain. 

It  was  an  awkward  moment  and  strange,  as  Dervail 
stood,  veiled  and  gray,  beside  the  body  of  Kieran,  waiting 
to  go. 

"  The  curse  came  when  he  came,"  she  said,  looking  down 
on  him.  "It  seems  a  thousand  years  past  —  and  it  was 
but  yesternight." 

Smoke  drifted  up  on  the  heavy  air,  and  curled  blue- 
white  through  the  windows.  Some  of  the  mob,  impatient 
of  delays,  had  fired  brush,  and  the  falling  rain  drowned  it, 
yet  it  bore  its  warning ! 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  shouting  as  the  guard  of  the  king 
formed  without  —  and  then  the  great  gate  of  the  castle 
opened  and  a  horse  was  seen  with  woman's  furnishings, 
and  a  roar  went  up. 

"Dervail!  Dervail!  Dervail,  the  accursed  of  Leinster!" 

Dervail  stooped  and  picked  up  the  dagger  let  fall  when 
she  ceased  the  torture  of  Kieran. 

"Dervail,  there  will  be  another  day  for  us,"  said 
Diarmod  the  king. 

"  Your  lips  speak,  O  king ! "  said  Dervail. 

She  felt  sullenly  that  the  dark-eyed  nun  —  long  dead  — 
had  thrust  herself  between  them  at  the  end  —  and  in  a 
strange  way  she  felt  that  the  monk  who  had  saved  his  last 
breath  for  curses  had  some  way  brought  all  this  evil  to  be 
when  he  sunk  his  knife  in  Duffagan:  that,  and  his  words 
of  mystic  things,  had  changed  the  world  for  her. 

He  had  caught  her  imagination  and  enthralled  her  soul 
by  the  mystic  things  he  left  in  shadow,  and  the  shadow 
and  fear  remained  on  her  like  a  heavy  cloak  of  gray. 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  Ardan. 

"Use  your  new  strength  —  do  not  let  the  king  show 

[224] 


DERVAIL 


NAN  CIAR 


himself  beside  me.  I  do  not  choose  he  should  hear  the 
wild  beasts  and  their  hate  of  me." 

"  It  is  their  fear  of  you,  Dervail." 

"  To  the  blind  monk  the  thanks  for  that ;  but  do  not  let 
him  come." 

So,  in  the  gray  rain,  drearily  falling,  she  rode  out  beside 
Ardan  in  the  center  of  twice  sixty  of  the  king's  guard. 
Her  name  was  echoed  by  them  a  thousand  times  with  all 
the  terms  of  evil  they  could  invent  or  remember,  and  more 
than  once  a  bowman  sent  an  arrow  hurtling  overhead  as  a 
warning  to  haste. 

Once  she  looked  back,  thinking  to  see  Diarmod  on  the 
wall,  but  she  saw  only  Kauth  staring  down  over  the  gate 
way  on  which  the  head  of  Duffagan  was  spiked. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  the  deaths  of  the  prophecy,  the 
"thousand  years'  tribute  of  blood,"  for  Dervail  of  the 
Shadow ! 


ffi 


ANY  souls  were  sent  for  judgment  in  the  slaughter 
done  by  Diarmod  —  and  done  against  him  in  his 
revenges   for   the    shame  of   losing  her  again   to 
Breffni. 

So  great  was  the  rage  against  her  that  even  the  castle 
of  O'Ruarc  was  no  safety.  Widows  and  the  children  of 
slaughtered  soldiery  cried  out  against  the  curse  of  her 
beauty  for  which  men  died,  and  she  became  a  secret 
woman  in  the  sanctuary  of  Cluain-mac-noise  from  which 
great  wealth  went  out  through  her  hands  for  holy  walls 
and  holy  vessels,  and  endless  prayer. 

And  ever,  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  on  the  sweet  spring 

[225] 


DERVAIllMiNANCIAR 


nights  of  Beltain,  she  knelt  on  the  cold  stone  of  the  chapel 
floor  to  undo  the  false  magic  of  Duffagan  on  the  hill  of  the 
druids.  He  had  seen  truly  there,  yet  his  reading  of  what 
he  saw  was  not  true;  and  the  proof  of  it  was  the  bridge 
she  had  built  for  evil  to  cross  on. 

It  was  not  that  she  doubted  the  magic  of  druidcraft,  but 
it  is  an  ill  and  unlucky  thing  to  go  to  the  old  gods  after 
the  saints  have  rung  bells  against  them.  Even  the  true 
things  are  twisted  after  that. 

Her  beauty  was  still  on  her,  and  the  dreams  of  Tara 
were  not  dead. 

But  the  fear  of  the  words  of  Kieran  remained  as  the 
shadow  of  a  gray  ghost,  sending  her  to  frightened 
prayer. 

The  curse  of  the  blind  monk  was  too  heavy  to  be  cast 
aside  even  by  penance,  and  she  walked  veiled  and  dreamed 
of  a  day  when  Diarmod  would  again  be  chief  of  victories 
and  change  the  gray  cloak  of  dread  to  the  royal  robe  of 
seven  colors. 

When  the  word  came  of  his  solemn  banishing  out  of 
Erinn  by  vote  of  the  Irish  nobles,  she  brooded,  and  reck 
oned  the  wealth  still  hers,  and  waited  message. 

When  he  came  again,  with  his  English  allies  and  the 
curst  name  "  Diarmod  of  the  Foreigners  "  on  him,  her  step 
was  light  with  hope,  for  the  soldiers  out  of  England  would 
make  him  king  indeed  over  all  the  proud  nobles  who  had 
banished  him  away !  The  dream  of  Tara  was  still  a  sweet, 
yet  fearful  dream. 

But  when  the  death  of  Diarmod  was  come  to  him  in 
horror,  and  the  head  of  Tiernan  O'Ruarc  was  sent  to  Eng 
land,  while  his  body  was  hung  by  the  feet  on  the  north 
wall  of  Dublin,  then  again  did  wild  rage  of  the  Irish  burn 
high  against  the  name  of  Dervail  of  the  Shadow. 

It  was  sung  in  songs  linking  her  ever  with  the  hated 

[226] 


DERVAIL  JX:  ^AN  CIAR 

invaders.  Even  through  convent  walls  that  hatred  came  — 
hatred  against  her  and  against  the  arch-traitor  who  had 
brought  the  English  enemy  to  help  win  the  throne  of 
Erinn,  because  of  her  beauty  and  her  daring  dream. 

In  secret  and  in  darkness,  she  was  guarded  to  Mellifont 
and  a  new  name  given  her  for  safety,  and  among  the  nuns 
she  was  never  known  to  have  worn  the  royal  colors  of  a 

queen.    And  the  dream  of  Tara  was  a  gray  horror yet  it 

had  been  told  by  Duffagan  that  kings  who  battled  for  her 
would  sink  in  death,  while  she  alone  survived  —  and  it 
was  so. 


UT  a  monk  whispered  her  name  in  the  sunny  walk 
of  the  garden  one  day  in  spring,  and  she  looked 
again  into  the  dark  eyes  of  Ardan,  who  should  be 
King  of  Leinster. 

He  held  out  to  her  a  pearl  and  a  ring  she  knew. 
"  These  were  to  go  back  to  you,  and  I  made  promise," 
he  said.    "  I  was  with  him  at  the  last,  when  no  one  else 
was  with  him." 

"Did  his  blessing  come  with  them?"  she  asked.    "It  is 
said  he  died  as  Kieran  died  —  cursing  Dervail." 
"  They  should  not  have  told  you  that." 
" Nay,  none  are  telling  me;  it  is  on  the  air  wherever  the 
invading   enemy   are   known   and   hated  —  Diarmod   and 
Dervail,  Dervail  and  Diarmod  of  the  Foreigners !    In  my 
dreams  I  am  hearing  the  curses  on  the  two  names!" 

"Duffagan  made  such  prophecy  of  your  name  and  its 
echoes  in  the  druid  circle." 

"He  did.     Give  the  pearl  to  some  altar  and  wear  you 

[227] 


DERVAIL  lleNAN  C1AR 


the  ring  of  your  father.  They  are  tokens  of  fear  to  me  — 
fear  of  what  I  dared  in  my  days  of  daring." 

"There  are  other  sons  to  wear  the  ring.  Mine  is  now 
the  monk's  robe.  I  am  a  builder  and  a  carver  of  stone.  If 
the  churches  rise  against  the  invading  English,  I  will  be  a 
soldier  to  help  undo  the  curse  of  Diarmod." 

"  And  the  curse  of  Dervail, "  she  said,  and  wept. 

He  made  no  answer. 

"  Ardan,"  she  said,  "  Kieran  the  monk  said,  a  thousand 
years'  bondage  on  Erinn  for  me,  a  thousand  years  of  the 
yoke  —  the  yoke  on  the  bent  neck  of  Erinn !  You  have  had 
the  true  vision  all  our  lives ;  you  were  the  only  true  thing, 
Ardan.  Can  you  read  the  days  to  come,  and  tell  me  the 
end  of  that  curse?  For  the  yoke  is  on  Erinn,  Ardan." 

"  I  dare  not  read,  or  make  prophecy,  Dervail. " 

"  A  white  road  to  you !  The  bell  of  vesper  sounds,  and 
it  is  Beltain  —  and  a  time  of  fear  to  me!  Ardan,  I  have 
long  had  a  thought  unspoken.  A  tomb  will  be  mine  some 
restful  night.  I  would  that  your  hand  had  the  carving  of 
that  bed.  Your  hand,  comrade,  will  carve  the  tomb  ?  It 
will  be  the  end  of  the  flight  of  the  bird,  Ardan. " 

"  I  will  do  that :  I  saw  the  form  of  it  when  we  rode  out 
through  the  smoke  and  the  furious  pack  there  at  the  castle 
in  Kildare." 

"And  it  will  be—?" 

"The  circled  cross  — and  a  gray  falcon  there  with 
broken,  trailing  wings,  Dervail." 


C228] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


(Enulttt 


fburteenA  Ctnturf. 

m 


^  iF^yr    "^J-^X      -^ 


RANOurror  CUMANAC 

UCH  is  the  record  of  Kearmit; 

—  Kearmit  the  holy  of  Cumanac, 
Truthful  the  word  he  has  written 

Truthful  the  warning. 
This  is  the  warning  to  pass  through  all  lives  to 

our  people  : 

Leave  all  unchristened  the  axe  arm  of  Erinn 
forever  ! 

From  Archibald  T.  De  Nise,  Attorney-at-Law. 
To  Major  Matthew  Forbes. 

A/p  dear  Major:  —  A  week  ago  when  we  ended  our  after- 
dinner  talk  (in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning),  I  little 
thought  that  I  should  so  soon  have  evidence  on  your  side 
of  the  argument  concerning  the  shadowy  other  life  in  our 
midst.  I  can't  say  that  the  new  evidence  has  convinced 
me,  but  it  certainly  has  me  rattled. 

I  am  sending  you  brief  excerpts  from  a  curious  old  Irish 
volume  I  am  eager  to  have  you  see,  and  also,  a  verbatim 
copy  of  the  letter  which  came  with  it.  I  recall  that  your 
family  was  of  the  last  hereditary  historians  of  Ireland  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  and  with  your  bookish  tendencies, 
added  to  your  predisposition  to  delve  into  the  uncanny,  it 
gives  me  a  hope  that  your  inheritance  of  knowledge  may 
help  me  to  a  glimmer  of  light  in  this  case. 

I  am  sure  that  in  reading  the  letter  I  enclose,  you  will 
not  fail  to  recollect  the  statement  of  your  friend  Dartan, 
whose  portrait  of  "Girl  with  the  Hound,"  was  in  the  spring 
exhibition.  He  told  us  that  the  addition  of  the  hound  to 
that  picture  was  at  his  suggestion,  and  that  it  required  con- 

[231] 


RANDUFF  OF  CUMANAC 


siderable  time  and  trouble  to  find  the  right  type  of  hound 
for  the  desired  composition.  By  this  you  will  note  that 
the  hound  did  not  enter  that  family  through  any  special 
desire  of  any  member  of  that  family. 

It  is  easy  to  decide  that  an  impressionable  mind,  under 
the  influence  of  powerful  inherited  tradition  of  brutal  ages, 
could  work  itself  into  a  state  of  self-hypnosis  wherein  the 
dream  became  the  fact.  I  tell  myself  that  such  is  the 
reasonable  solution  of  the  mystery. 

I  work  it  out  beautifully  along  those  lines  as  I  would  a 
theoretical  game  of  chess  —  and  then  that  red-eyed  hound 
of  the  picture  walks  across  the  board,  and  makes  chaos  of 
my  chess  men! 

You  know  how  much  the  unusual  personality  of  the  boy 
has  interested  me  from  the  beginning.  The  excitement 
over  him  has  been  tremendous  —  the  absolute  lack  of 
motive  —  her  beauty,  and  his  youth  (he  is  not  yet  twenty- 
three)  —  all  this  would  be  enough  to  make  the  affair  cele 
brated  even  without  the  very  important  financial  position 
held  by  his  brother. 

I  have  begged  the  boy  to  help  me  clear  up  the  mystery 
of  it  all,  and  he  evidently  thinks  he  has  really  given  me 
that  help  in  the  letter  I  enclose,  but  to  my  mind  it 
furnishes  two  mysteries  instead  of  one. 

When  you  have  read  it  I  want  you  to  call  me  up,  no 
matter  what  hour  of  the  day  or  night  it  is,  and  then  come 
and  talk  it  over  —  if  ever  a  friend  needed  a  lifeline  in  the 
strange  sea  of  the  uncanny,  I  am  that  friend.  I  worked 
personally  all  night  on  the  copy  I  send  you  —  it  could  not 
be  given  to  a  copyist. 

There  are  many  who  are  confident  that  he  is  not  the 
guilty  one,  but  that  his  finding  her  there,  in  that  condition, 
shocked  him  out  of  sanity.  He  gave  himself  up  at  once 
and  accused  himself  without  any  excitement  whatever. 

[232] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


He  has  steadily  refused  to  tell  his  motive  for  the  act,  and 
has  made  not  the  slightest  attempt  to  vindicate  himself  at 
any  time  —  not  even  soliciting  the  help  of  an  attorney. 

When  I  offered  him  the  services  of  my  office  he  only 
said:  "It  is  a  kindness  of  you  to  give  help  at  this  time, 
and  there  is  money  in  plenty  to  pay  you,  Mr.  De  Nise,  but 
the  work  is  not  worth  the  doing,  and  it  is  I  am  telling 
you  it." 

More  than  that  he  has  not  said,  and  his  speech  has  the 
unusual  quality  of  fineness  in  it,  at  the  same  time  that  he 
uses  curious  phrasing  suggestive  of  a  brogue,  though  it  is 
not  a  brogue.  Perhaps  it  is  that  Irish  music  in  his  voice 
makes  him  fascinating.  I  have  heard  nothing  quite  like 
it.  I  hope  you  remember  that  in  our  former  talk  I  spoke  to 
you  of  it,  and  you  said  that  prior  to  Elizabethan  days, 
much  learning  and  most  of  the  music  of  England  had  been 
borrowed  from  the  Irish  scholars  who  took  the  brogue 
with  them  across  the  Irish  Sea  and  made  it  fashionable. 
I  assure  you  this  lad's  manner  would  become  fashionable 
if  it  could  be  easily  imitated.  It  belongs  to  a  world  older 
than  our  day.  That  is  the  baffling  impression  given  when 
he  speaks.  It  is  not  the  words  alone  —  it  is  a  certain  lilt  in 
intonation  as  if  he  had  been  trained  in  rhythmic  chants. 
Strangely  enough  his  half-brother,  who  is  old  enough  to 
be  his  father,  and  has  had  much  the  same  educational 
advantages,  has  not  a  particle  of  this  manner.  He  is 
a  plain,  practical,  very  well-to-do  Anglo-Irishman,  in 
terested  in  certain  American  mines,  and  is  a  local  bank 
director. 

You  will  think  me  obsessed  by  this  matter  of  a  person 
ality  individual  and  strange  —  but  I  am  only  impressing 
on  you  the  fact  that  I  spoke  to  you  a  week  ago  of  that 
baffling  fascination  in  him.  I  want  you  to  remember  it, 
otherwise  we  should  both  fancy  that  my  present  impres- 

[233] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


sions  are  merely  borrowed  from  the  book  and  letter  I 
send  you. 

Yesterday,  in  desperation  over  having  the  case  called  for 
next  week  and  not  a  single  word  or  suggestion  of  help 
from  him,  I  repeated  what  I  have  said  to  him  so  often : 

"  Fergal,  since  you  have  promptly  accused  yourself  and 
implicated  no  one  but  yourself,  why  —  why  in  the  name  of 
all  that's  holy,  do  you  not  tell  to  me,  your  lawyer,  and  your 
friend,  at  least  the  cause  of  the  crime  you  have  confessed  ? 
Why  will  you  not  give  me  something  substantial  to  work 
on?  As  it  is,  I  have  nothing  but  absurd  theories  — 
shadows  to  pit  against  a  prosecution." 

He  looked  at  me  with  the  quiet,  unyouthful  gray  eyes, 
which  look  black  under  jet  lashes.  Then  he  stretched  his 
arms  drowsily  as  if  I  had  fairly  beaten  him  into  speech. 

"Aye,  Mr.  De  Nise,"  he  said,  and  shook  his  head  with 
its  purple-black  wave  of  hair,  like  nothing  so  much  as  a 
crow's  wing,  except  that  a  crow  has  no  curls  to  its  feath 
ers.  "  Mr.  De  Nise,  the  wonder  is  on  me,  sir,  as  to  what 
you  would  be  saying  if  you  heard  in  truth  of  the  shadow  I 
have  fought  in  this  —  and  the  shadow  I  feared  long  —  and 
the  shadow  by  which  I  was  overcome.  I  am  not  the  one 
saying  to  you  that  shadows  are  little  things  to  fight. " 

"  You  try  me  and  see  what  I  would  say,"  I  suggested. 
"  Tell  me  every  word  and  every  thought  you  have  on  this 
matter ;  that  is  the  right  thing  to  do  for  me  as  well  as  for 
you."  I  was  only  too  keen  to  encourage  him,  for  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  shown  even  a  sign  of  sympathy  toward 
my  solicitations. 

"  And  you  would  not  be  thinking  it  moonshine  from  some 
Irish  rath  of  the  fairies?  And  you  will  not  be  having  your 
laugh  with  the  councilors  and  the  judges  over  the  crazed 
Irish  head  of  me,  after  I  have  gone  the  Way?"  he  asked. 

I  assured  him  it  was  too  weighty  an  affair  for  laughter, 

[234] 


RANDUFFrOFCUMANAC 

and  that  I  was  convinced  that  his  head  had  the  usual 
requisites  for  a  head.  He  appeared  to  consider  that  state 
ment  thoughtfully,  but  finally  he  said  : 

"No —  no,  it  has  lived  with  me  so  long  in  silence  that 
no  words  come  to  me  for  the  telling.  No  —  it  will  not  be 
spoken." 

I  saw  that  he  was  actually  striving  to  nerve  himself  for 
some  ordeal,  and  I  kept  silence,  looking  over  some  notes  I 
had  made  for  the  defense :  few  and  shadowy  they  are,  too ! 
My  presence  without  speech  must  have  got  on  his  nerves, 
for  as  if  to  get  rid  of  me  he  spoke  at  last. 

"  I  may  write  it  as  the  other  records  of  our  home  were 
written  — I  —  may  do  that.  Yes  — that  is  where  it  would 
be  having  the  right  place  —  in  the  record  of  the  clan,  for 
it  is  the  ending  of  it  — yes  — and  the  right  ending." 

I  knew  I  could  make  nothing  for  his  defense  out  of  that 
sort  of  statement,  so  I  ignored  it,  and  left  the  jail  after 
sending  for  paper,  pen,  and  ink.  I  looked  back  through  the 
bars  and  he  was  seated  again,  his  head  on  his  hands.  I 
should  not  have  been  surprised  to  learn  that  he  had  for 
gotten  the  pen  and  paper  were  there.  I  have  not  seen  him 
since. 

But  this  morning  there  came  to  the  office  his  half- 
brother,  Raymond  E.  Brennan,  from  whom  this  crime  has 
separated  him  beyond  hope  of  reconciliation.  Now  that 
I  think  of  it,  they  are  not  exactly  half-brothers  but  by 
courtesy,  since  Brennan's  father  married  the  mother  of 
Fergal  some  years  after  he  was  born,  and  she  a  widow. 

In  his  hand  he  carried  a  small  square  package. 

"It  is  the  book  —  "  he  said,  "the  book  done  by  Kearmit 
the  monk  in  a  past  century.  I  brought  it  myself,  for  the 
boy  asked  that  you  be  let  read  it.  It  is  a  treasure  of  his 
house.  He  knew  it  by  heart,  and  thought  it  a  great 
treasure  — as  I  fancy  it  may  be,  as  such  things  go." 

[235] 


His  tone  indicated  that  such  things  did  not  go  far  with 
him,  though  he  was  tolerant. 

"Is  it  something  concerning  the  case?"  I  asked. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  collection  of  legends 
and  songs  of  his  mother's  house,  done  by  a  kinsman  of 
theirs  who  was  a  monk.  It  is  a  very  ancient  house,  Mr. 
De  Nise.  According  to  the  records,  there  were  princes 
and  abbots  among  them  when  Ireland  was  in  her  glory. 
The  work  on  the  book  is  of  the  finest  and  worth  seeing." 

"But  I  have  made  no  request  for  the  book,  nor  ever 
heard  of  it,"  I  said,  for  as  the  wrapper  was  taken  off  and 
I  saw  the  richness  and  value  of  it,  I  hesitated  to  keep  it. 
He  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"No?  That  is  strange,"  he  said.  "Ah,  the  poor  lad; 
his  head  is  wrong;  that  is  it." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  I  wanted  it?  "  I  asked.  "  Please  repeat 
to  me  exactly  what  he  said;  I  am  much  interested  in  his 
case,  and  he  speaks  so  little  that  every  word  is  precious, 
as  it  may  help  to  reveal  hidden  things." 

"  I  know  that,  and  am  glad  he  has  a  good  friend  in  you. 
I  cannot  be  that.  I  feel  that  it  is  his  head  is  wrong,  for  he 
was  ever  a  strange  lad,  delving  in  ancient  records,  and  at 
home  with  thoughts  too  old  for  his  years.  His  mother  was 
a  safe,  natural  woman  and  there  were  times  he  seemed 
'  fey '  to  her.  He  was  born  the  night  his  father  died,  but 
he  was  like  neither  father  nor  mother.  She  told  me  that 
when  she  followed  my  father,  and  asked  me  to  care  for  the 
lad.  I  did  my  best  while  I  could,  but  I  do  not  want  ever 
to  hear  the  old  Irish  of  his  voice  again,  or  touch  his  hand 
again  while  I  live." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  'old'  Irish  of  his  voice?"  I 

asked,  and  he  looked  at  me  with  a  little  frown  of  perplexity. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  De  Nise,  that  is  a  hard  question  to 

answer  to  a  man  who  has  not  heard  the  Gcelic  about  him. 

[236] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


That  lad  was  not  brought  up  to  the  Gaelic  speech,  nor  his 
parents  before  him,  nor  their  parents,  yet  when  he  spoke 
first  —  English  words,  mind  you  —  he  spoke  it  with  the 
sound  on  his  tongue  of  the  old  Irish.  That  is  not  because 
he  has  not  gone  about  and  heard  other  speech :  three  years 
he  was  in  France  and  in  Spain.  There  was  an  old  branch 
of  his  people  came  to  Galway  from  Spain  in  the  very  old 
times.  His  mother  said  he  came  by  the  blackness  of  his 
hair  from  the  Spanish  kindred,  for  her  people  were  fair  al 
ways.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  no  travel  took  the  touch  of  the 
old  tongue  off  him.  You  must  have  noticed,  sir,  yourself ; 
it  is  as  if  he  speaks  in  English  but  thinks  in  the  old  Irish." 

Now  that  explained  exactly  that  baffling  music  of  his 
intonation,  and  I  was  glad  to  have  it  cleared  up  for  me ;  if 
cleared  up  it  is  ! 

"Yes  —  he  has  always  been  strange,  but  he  was  a  lov 
able  lad  at  that,"  said  Brennan.  "  I  know  it  was  his  head 
went  wrong  all  in  a  flash,  and  I  hope  the  court  so  decides. 
But  when  I  try  to  think  kindly  of  him,  there  comes  again 
before  my  eyes  that  awful  sight  of  — ah  — I  cannot  even 
speak  of  it  yet." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  with  his  back  to  me. 
I  could  see  he  was  much  agitated. 

"  Do  not  try  to  speak  of  it,"  I  said,  "  only  try  to  tell  me 
the  word  he  sent  concerning  the  book." 

Brennan  gave  me  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  walked 
again  to  the  window  while  I  read  it. 

There  was  no  heading  to  the  letter;  it  began  abruptly  in 
clear,  decided  penmanship. 

"  I  know  the  sorrow  of  you  —  yet  it  may  be  there  is  a  deeper 
sorrow  I  am  now  hiding.  I  know  the  hate  of  your  heart  for  me 
—^and  all  the  world  is  with  you  in  that. 

"I  am  not  sending  to  you  in  any  complaining,  for  things  are 
written,  and  the  reasons  are  not  shown  to  mortals,  yet  we  must 
abide  by  that  writing. 

[237] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


"  I  am  sending  to  ask  a  favor  for  the  man  who  would  save  —  if 
he  can  —  the  last  of  my  family,  which  he  cannot.  I  would  have 
lent  to  him  for  his  reading,  the  book  of  the  annals  of  our  house. 
Not  the  genealogy  in  Gaelic  with  its  translation,  but  the  smaller 
book  with  the  ivory  cover  and  the  silver  clasps.  It  is  the  legends 
and  songs  of  our  bards  in  the  other  days  before  the  harps  of 
Ireland  were  broken  by  the  mailed  fist  of  the  enemy.  The  man 
•I  want  to  have  read  it  is  a  lover  of  books,  and  nothing  like  the 
'Book  of  Kearmit'  has  he  seen;  not  but  what  kindred  clans  had 
jewels  of  books,  and  more  of  them  than  in  other  lands,  but  the 
Saxon,  like  the  Dane,  in  their  plunderings,  stripped  them  of  the 
precious  coverings,  and  left  the  vellum  to  rot  or  burn.  They  are 
few  and  rare  at  this  day. 

"The  sorrow  is  with  me  for  the  reason  that  your  life  is  in 
shadow.  Always  first  in  my  heart  was  held  my  love  of  you.  I  am 
proud  now  to  be  knowing  that,  and  on  a  day  to  be  .  .  .  you 
will  know  it! 

"  On  that  day  I  may  again  call  you  brother  —  and  the  waiting 
for  it  is  long  to  me.  "FERGAL." 

"  That  is  the  first  word  he  has  ever  sent  me,  since  that 
night,"  said  Brennan,  "  so  I  brought  the  book  at  once.  I 
would  do  much  more  to  be  of  use  to  any  mortal  in  misery, 
but  hear  him,  or  see  him,  I  hope  I  shall  never." 

While  he  spoke  a  messenger  came  in  with  a  package  for 
me.  I  still  held  Brennan's  letter  in  my  hand.  As  I  glanced 
at  the  envelope  just  received  I  saw  that  the  writing  was 
the  same  —  it  was  the  first  communication  I  had  ever 
received  from  Fergal. 

I  opened  it  quickly,  and  found  many  large  pages  closely 
written;  folded  around  them  was  a  note.  It  said: 

"Good  Friend — 

"A  book  of  old  Irish  legends  will  be  brought  to  your 
hand  this  day.  Before  reading  the  letter  I  send  in  this,  I  will  ask 
you  to  read  the  book.  There  is  one  tale  of  the  olden  days  I  would 
have  you  reading.  It  is  called  Randuff  and  White  £nora." 

I  turned  to  Brennan.  "  I  should  like  after  all  to  look  at 
the  book,"  I  said.  "  Fergal  will  no  doubt  tell  me  why  he 
wishes  me  to  see  it." 

[238] 


RAN  DUFF  OF  CUMANAC 


Then  thanking  him  for  coming  with  it  personally,  I  let 
him  out  as  expeditiously  as  possible  in  my  eagerness  to  see 
what  the  boy  had  sent  me.  It  was  a  great  temptation  to 
read  the  letter  first,  but  I  put  it  aside  and  opened  the  book. 


XT  is  a  curiosity  in  book-making  and  binding.     The 
ivory  panels  of  the  back  with  their  scroll  work  of 
silver  were  done  by  no  prentice  hand,  and  the  let 
tering  on  the  vellum  is  so  fine  I  had  to  use  a  magnify 
ing  glass  to  get  all  the  beauty  of  line  in  the  illuminated 
initials.  How  the  deuce  did  those  Irish  monks  of  the  old 
days   do   such   work   with   quill   pens   and   no   glasses? 
Whoever  "  Kearmit  of  Clan  Cumanac  "  might  have  been, 
his  work  was  that  of  an  artist,  as  you  will  see  when  you 
come. 

I  did  not  linger  long  over  the  artistic  binding  or  orna 
mental  pen  work,  but  turned  at  once  to  the  story  Fergal 
had  mentioned.  It  was  called  The  Sad  Tale  of  Randuff  and 
White  Enora.  It  was  written  in  verse,  as  many  others  were. 
I  find  that  Randuff  means  "  The  Dark,  Handsome  One. " 


Tormond,  north  of  the  Shannon,  dwelt  the  clans  of 
Cumanac  before  the  foot  of  the  invader  brought  the 
curse  on  the  land,  and  sent  westward  their  mer 
cenaries  to  wall  themselves  in,  and  to  carve  prayers  in 
the  stone  over  the  gates,  that  the  sons  of  the  land  might 

[239] 


RANDUFFOFCUNANAC 


not  rise  in  their  vengeance  and  make  ashes  of  their 
women  and  children  as  have  the  Saxons  with  the  "  mere 
Irish." 

But  Brian  is  dust  in  Dunpatrick,  and  Cormac  the  wise 
has  been  dust  a  thousand  years  in  Rosnaree,  and  besides 
them  no  king  has  arisen  in  strength  to  hold  together  the 
tribes,  and  strong  to  do  righteousness  on  the  adventurers 
who  have  their  hirelings  in  mail  to  help  them  make  profits 
oft7  the  land. 

And  of  the  last  law  of  Edward's  councilors  has  come  the 
evil  of  the  death  of  Randuff  —  the  sweetly  dark  one,  cried 
now  by  the  woman,  and  mourned  by  the  very  trees  of  the 
forests  he  had  love  for!  Randuff  of  the  princes  of 
Cumanac,  Randuff  of  the  sweet  voice,  and  that  voice 
chanting  the  glories  above  all  sweetness  of  mortal:  Grief 
on  the  loss  of  that  one ! 

Her  name  was  Enora  of  the  Saxons,  and  when  she  spread 
her  net,  and  looked  on  him,  it  was  a  drug  to  his  soul.  The 
robe  of  a  scholar  he  forgot,  and  holiness  he  forgot,  and 
only  marriage  with  her  was  the  dream  walking  with  him 
all  the  night.  To  his  brothers  in  kindred  he  told  his  love 
and  it  needed  not  the  telling,  for  all  could  read  the  wonder 
of  it  in  his  eyes  —  shadowed  eyes  the  women  of  Cumanac 
are  wailing ! 

The  new  law  of  the  invader  forbids  bonds  of  marriage 
between  their  Saxon  men  and  our  Irish  women  —  and 
much  more  is  the  strength  of  the  law  against  daughters  of 
English  taking  a  name  from  an  Irish  clan,  even  though  it 
be  a  princely  clan.  Grief  on  that  day! 

So  it  stands,  and  what  is  one  man,  even  the  youth 
Randuff,  to  do  against  that?  What  is  one  man  to  do  with 
the  pride  of  his  clan  like  a  black  rage  back  of  him?  And 
their  friendship  and  their  love  hidden  from  him?  And 
their  rule  hard  against  him  for  that  he  would  not  tear  the 

[240] 


RANDUFFJ)FCUMANAC 

face  of  her  out  of  his  breast;  and  would  not  forget  the 
White  Enora  of  the  sea-blue  eyes? 

Sons  of  lords  of  Spain  sailed  into  the  Shannon  mouth. 
In  their  own  ship  they  came,  and  young  they  came,  and 
they  were  his  kindred.  Love  in  their  own  hearts  made 
them  brothers  to  Randuff,  and  they  alone  knew  of  the 
stolen  nights  of  him  in  her  secret  chamber.  Only  they 
knew  that  he  fared  forth  as  a  duine  —  leading  the  steed  of 
her  father  ...  as  a  servant  unknown  walked  Randuff,  son 
of  princes,  to  follow  the  white  feet  of  the  woman  of  the 
other  shore.  Grief  on  that  day  !  None  but  the  sons  of  the 
lords  of  Spain  knew  it,  and  they  knew  it. 

Sweet  the  plot  for  love  was  the  plot  of  Randuff  and  the 
sons  of  the  lords  of  Spain  —  and  sweet  the  sailing  to  be 
when  the  bird  of  love  flew  south  with  them,  for  that  was 
their  dream! 

But  the  maid  of  the  secret  nights  had  a  long  look  in  the 
blue  eyes  of  her,  and  the  look  was  long  for  a  man  who 
could  put  her  near  to  the  throne  in  the  court  of  Edward. 
Such  was  her  look,  and  such  was  the  hope,  and  that  was 
not  in  power  of  Randuff,  son  of  prince  of  Cumanac,  nor 
of  any  other  of  Erinn's  princes,  and  she  grew  in  fear  of 
the  love-nights  she  had  loved  so  rashly,  and  in  fear  of  the 
lover  who  had  dared  much,  and  would  dare  more. 

The  Night  of  nights  came  when  the  sails  were  loosed, 
and  horses  were  under  the  wall,  and  the  lover  in  the  secret 
door  for  the  last  time.  And  in  fear  of  his  wrath  when  she 
should  say  to  him  "  No,"  and  in  fear  of  her  own  kindred  if 
they  thought  the  truth  of  her  —  she  took  by  her  side  a 
wolfhound  of  her  knowing,  and  a  keen  knife  to  give  help 
to  the  last.  Grief  on  the  night ! 

With  fair  treacherous  words,  and  sad  words,  she  told 
him  the  will  of  her  kinsmen  was  heavy  on  her,  and  the  fear 
on  her  was  a  great  fear,  and  never  again  could  the  moon 

[241] 


light  their  love-nights.  Her  beauty  had  been  coveted  by  an 
earl  of  England,  and  her  parting  from  wild  Ireland  would 
be  a  long  parting. 

So  it  was,  and  when  in  love  his  arms  went  around  her, 
the  wolfhound  leaped  to  his  throat,  and  her  knife  found  the 
way  to  his  heart.  Grief  on  that  night ! 

The  cries  of  her  were  the  cries  of  a  child  in  fright,  and 
her  words  were  of  terror,  and  these  were  her  words :  That 
to  save  herself  pure  from  a  man  of  the  Irish  wilds,  she  had 
used  the  knife,  and  she  stood  there  holding  back  the  hound 
from  the  blood  of  Randuff,  and  told  this  thing,  and  the 
eyes  of  Randuff  on  her,  and  the  breath  of  life  going  from 
him! 

Her  kinsmen  came  there  —  and  their  rage  was  a  great 
and  terrible  rage,  and  above  all  the  rage  was  that  of 
Alwynn,  a  priest  of  her  blood,  and  it  may  be  he  is  druid, 
too,  for  he  is  not  Christian  surely  ;  and  it  was  the  curse  of 
curses  he  put  on  the  youth  there,  not  alone  that  he  should 
die  unshriven,  but  that  no  sons  should  ever  again  be  born 
to  the  name,  and  the  pride  of  the  race,  and  its  fruitfulness 
should  die  out  even  as  the  youth's  blood  was  flowing  from 
the  heart  of  him.  Grief  on  that  night  ! 

And  the  strength  of  that  hate,  and  the  words  of  it,  wak 
ened  Randuff  out  of  the  death  spell,  and  in  a  great  slow 
ness  he  spoke  again,  and  the  people  who  heard  it  went  cold, 
and  the  wanton  white  thing  fell  swooning,  and  none  of 
them  are  forgetting  it,  and  this  is  what  he  said  there : 

"  When  the  last  of  our  clan's  blood  is  gone  from  this  life, 
Will  but  be  when  Enora  finds  death  by  this  knife. 
If  no  sons  shall  be  born  to  keep  honored  our  name, 
From  the  grave  one  will  rise  to  give  death  for  this  shame. 
And  you  err,  White  Enora,  at  thought  that  the  moon 
Will  no  more  light  our  meetings:   a  vision  —  a  swoon 
Comes  gray  on  my  senses,  yet  through  it  I  see 
Another  life  living  for  you  —  and  for  me!" 

[242] 


Death  took  him,  and  no  mortal  is  knowing  what  meaning 
was  in  his  words.  The  Spanish  kinsmen  told  their  tale, 
and  sailed  for  the  south,  and  earth  glory  and  sinful  glory 
are  the  portion  of  Enora  of  the  wolfhound.  She  is  near  the 
throne  surely,  and  the  children  of  her  are  honored  by  her 
own  name  forever  by  the  royal  will. 

This  is  the  tale  of  Randuff  and  White  Enora.  It  is  put 
down  by  the  hand  of  Kearmit  of  Cumanac  as  a  sign  against 
that  family  forever.  No  honor,  no  friendship,  is  ever  to  be 
taken  by  gift  or  grace  of  the  people  of  her  blood,  and  no 
other  thing  forever  but  war  should  be  with  that  people.  As 
White  Enora  with  her  wolfhound,  and  her  knife  for  the 
lover,  so  is  that  blood  to  the  blood  of  the  tribes  whose  land 
they  have  coveted,  and  have  left  ravaged.  May  memory 
be  with  our  people  in  the  Day  of  days  ! 

"  By  the  Elements,  and  the  Father,  and  Son,  and  Sancti 
fied  Spirit." 


N  a  different  but  clear  hand  two  pages  were  added 


Such  is  the  record  of  Kearmit,  Kearrait,  the  holy  of  Cumanac, 

Truthful  the  word  he  has  written  —  blessed  the  writing! 

Truthful  the  warning  to  tribes  of  the  Cumanac, 

Truthful  that  warning! 

Against  Alba  whose  own  sons  they  sold  in  the  market, 

and  they  not  in  hunger, 
Against  that  people  whose  daughters  were  coming  like  calves 

and  sold  like  the  cattle, 
Against  that  land  whose  mothers  were  sold 

and  they  with  the  unborn!  — 

They  are  the  men  lacking  blood  but  the  blood  of  the  liver, 
They  are  the  men.    The  diolamhan  fight  all  their  battles. 

[243] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


Loud  is  their  laugh  that  Brabanters  are  fighting  their  battles, 

loud  in  their  mocking! 
Evil  was  ours  in  the  buying  of  children  and  mothers, 

evil  in  bringing  that  breed. 
Shadow  to  us  for  that  breeding: 

treacheries  born  from  the  blood  of  their  daughters. 
Weakness  of  heart  in  our  clans  buying  slaves  out  of  Alba, 
Slaves  have  been  made  of  that  buying;  —  slaves  are  our  princes! 
Sad  forever  the  purchase  —  Erinn  in  shadow  is  witness! 
Sing  death  forever  'gainst  compact  or  truce  with  that  people. 
Leave  us  forever  unchristened  one  hand  of  our  clansmen: 
The  axe  hand  of  battle  for  these  who  have  sold  us  their  daughters. 
Watch  you  forever  'gainst  smiles,  or  sweet  words,  or  hand  claspings. 
Think  on  their  mothers  once  sold  to  our  men  for  our  usage, 
Swearing  of  friends'  oath  with  them!    Unchristened  the  axe  arm 

of  Erinn. 

Unchristened  the  axe  arm  forever  to  use  in  the  cleaving 
Of  tribes  who  would  barter  a  friend  as  they  sold  their   own 

daughters. 

This  is  the  warning  to  pass  through  all  lives  to  our  people, 
This,  and  the  maid  of  the  wolfhound,  and  she  with  the  dagger. 
That  is  the  soul  out  of  Alba  —  the  white  maid  Enora! 
Leave  all  unchristened  the  axe  arm  of  Erinn  forever! 


I  finished  the  old  chronicles,  wondering  why  I  had  been 
asked  to  read  of  the  intensity  of  the  ancient  hates,  though 
I  acknowledge  that  the  form  of  the  original  is  better  than 
my  faulty  translation  from  the  Latin.  Then  I  opened  his 
letter  of  which  I  send  you  an  exact  copy.  I  can't  let  the 
original  go  —  yet  I  want  you  to  be  entirely  acquainted 
with  all  the  evidence  of  which  I  am  possessed.  Call  me  up 
soon  as  you  read  it.  Here  is  the  letter : 

My  Good  Friend — 

Now  that  I  have  put  my  hand  to  it,  you  shall  have  your 
wish.  To  tell  you  will  lighten  the  heart  of  me,  and  now 
that  the  end  is  so  near  I  can  see  no  harm  coming  from  the 

[244] 


RANDUFF  OF 


truth.  No  man  with  the  cleverness  of  you  would  take  into 
court  a  letter  such  as  this  must  be,  and  you  will  not  tell 
the  one  man  it  would  hurt  —  that  you  could  not  do;  the 
worst  you  will  do  is  to  think  me  mad. 

If  it  is  so  now,  then  I  was  mad  at  birth.  Yet  no  one 
thought  it.  I  was  different  but  no  worse  than  that,  and 
I  will  tell  it  you. 

My  mother  was  of  the  blood  of  the  Cumanac,  though  the 
name  of  the  tribe  is  dead.  Sons  were  not  born  —  only 
daughters.  The  genealogy  of  our  people  is  clear  back  to 
the  days  of  Diarmod  of  the  Foreigners,  who  is  in  hell  if 
there  be  one !  The  women  of  our  house  married  scholars, 
and  into  families  of  scholars.  The  record  of  that  blood  was 
the  record  of  a  province,  and  there  was  no  generation  of 
it  lost. 

I  am  different  from  my  family.  They  were  fair,  I  am 
dark  as  our  ancient  Spanish  cousins.  My  mother  wept 
often  on  my  birthdays  but  would  not  say  why  to  me.  Later 
I  learned  that  I  was  born  the  night  of  the  death  of  my 
father.  There  were  times  when  she  cried  out  that  I  was 
born  with  his  brains,  and  my  questions  of  ancient  things 
frightened  her,  for  I  spoke  as  a  child  of  things  I  could  not 
know  as  a  child.  She  thought  I  had  "  the  sight,"  and  she 
was  frightened  by  it,  for  she  was  a  quiet,  God-fearing 
woman,  with  only  dread  on  her  for  the  side  of  life  she  could 
not  see. 

Because  of  that  dread  I  grew  silent  about  many  things. 
I  wanted  to  ask  why,  when  I  closed  my  eyes  to  sleep,  I 
so  often  rose  above  my  body  and  drifted  there,  held  only 
by  the  thin  invisible  cord,  waiting  for  the  slumber  of  the 
body  to  release  me  until  I  could  go  free  —  where? 

I  wanted  to  ask  why  certain  people,  though  dressed  in 
sober  friese,  yet  had  rainbow  rays  of  light  visible  —  while 
others  had  clear  white  —  and  others  the  color  of  gloom. 

[  245  ] 


RANDUFFrOFCUMANAC 

I  wanted  to  ask  of  the  faint,  sweet  music  of  harps,  heard 
in  nights  of  clear  cold  and  white  snow  under  the  moon  — 
often  I  was  out  at  dawn  to  find  track  of  the  musicians 
whose  playing  was  unearthly  sweet. 

But  I  was  only  a  boy,  and  I  had  learned  to  watch  and 
learn  if  others  were  in  the  same  wonder,  but  it  was  of  no 
use.  There  were  no  tracks  in  the  snow,  and  no  one  seemed 
to  me  to  have  ears  or  eyes  for  my  mysteries. 

So  I  grew  to  live  much  within  myself,  and  my  mother 
was  a  lonely  woman.  When  the  father  of  Raymond  wed 
with  her,  it  brought  more  content  to  us  both.  I  think  she 
feared  the  care  of  me  as  I  grew  older,  and  Raymond  was 
the  sort  she  could  best  understand. 

It  was  after  the  marriage  that  I  first  saw  the  land  of  our 
ancient  people.  In  Galway  my  mother's  husband  had 
bought  an  old  estate,  and  Raymond  had  great  joy  in  plans 
for  showing  me  the  old  castle  —  the  secret  dungeon  —  the 
hidden  stairway  and  subterranean  gallery  whose  exit  they 
had  not  yet  discovered. 

That  was  the  time  I  had  the  first  glimmer  of  light  as  to 
where  I  had  flown  while  my  body  slept! 

For  I  turned  to  the  hidden  stairway  before  Raymond 
could  tell  me,  and  I  took  them  to  the  ruins  of  an 
old  monastic  cell,  and  told  them  to  lift  a  slab  there  to 
find  the  underground  entrance  —  and  it  was  there  as  I 
said. 

My  mother  wept  when  they  told  her.  I  said  I  had 
dreamed  it. 

In  looking  over  the  ancient  documents  of  transfer  of  the 
lands,  its  history  was  clear  to  the  days  of  Edward  the 
Third,  when  a  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Saxon  owner  had 
become  a  court  favorite,  and  left  the  wilds  of  Connaught 
to  carry  her  graces  to  the  eastern  market.  The  name  of 
her  was  Enora.  I  was  reading  Latin  by  that  time  and 

[246] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


found  her  name  in  our  own  records  by  Kearmit.  Raymond 
came  by  some  deeds  giving  names  of  her  descendants,  and 
it  was  a  game  of  interest  to  trace  them  down  through  the 
centuries. 

Happiness  was  with  me  in  that  place;  I  had  never 
heard  the  Gaelic  until  I  heard  it  there,  and  the  knowing 
of  it  seemed  breathed  into  me  with  the  air,  for  I  was  soon 
delving  in  every  corner  for  songs  of  the  ancient  bards  and 
seeking  out  old  singers,  and  hearing  over  and  over  their 
tales  of  the  breaking  of  Ireland's  harps  by  England's  laws 
that  her  music  might  be  killed  forever. 

The  tales  were  sad  enough,  but  I  was  only  a  lad  and  no 
sadness  stayed  on  me,  for  I  was  in  more  happiness  than 
ever  before.  In  my  early  childhood  I  had  been  long  ill,  and 
debarred  from  ranging  in  freedom  the  field  or  the  moun 
tains,  but  in  old  half-Spanish-looking  Galway  I  walked 
into  new  life  —  and  new  strength.  The  nights  and  days 
were  filled  with  the  harmonies  of  mere  living.  I  was  as 
one  who  has  hungered  long  for  full  warm  heartbeats  and 
who  grows  drunken  with  the  rhythmic  music  of  that 
pulsing  —  all  the  world  and  the  harmonies  of  it  were  as 
chorus  to  me. 

I  enjoyed  life  with  every  breath  of  me  — not  as  my 
mother  and  Raymond  did,  in  quiet  and  serene,  but  with 
the  lilt  of  a  singing  gladness  that  was  but  a  reflection  of 
every  flower  — an  echo  of  every  bird-song  and  the  joyous, 
thunderous  rhythm  of  the  tide  with  its  menace  of 
mysteries. 

The  Gaelic  came  to  me  as  though  in  sudden  remem 
brance,  and  I  lived  in  the  very  spirit  of  the  ancient  legends 
of  the  Land  Wonderful  where  turrets  of  sunken  cities  are 
seen  in  a  clear  day  at  the  ebb,  and  the  magic  island  of  the 
"  Land  of  the  Ever  Young  "  rises  above  the  waters  to  the 
west  every  seven  years. 

[247] 


J?ANDUFFJ)FCUMANAC 

Ireland  is  the  tragic  "  different  "  land  from  every  other. 
The  wish  is  with  me  that  I  could  tell  to  you  the  influences 
in  that  land  —  the  inherited  influences  by  which  an  unread 
peasant  can  recite  the  loves  and  battles  of  Queen  Maeve, 
and  the  flight  of  Crania  and  her  Diarmod,  as  if  the  passions 
of  them  had  been  in  our  own  day  rather  than  twenty  cen 
turies  back  in  the  shadows.  Every  well  and  river,  every 
hill  and  battle-plain,  has  its  legend  of  god  or  goddess,  of 
the  Danaans  or  the  later  wondrous  Fionn  and  the  Com 
rades.  Nothing  is  old  there,  because  the  spirit  of  it  is 
young.  It  is  why  the  music  of  it  has  had  soul  enough  to 
reach  through  the  world  —  Teuton  and  Briton  and  Gaul 
borrowed  and  renamed  the  music  of  Ireland  and  the 
legends  of  Ireland,  even  while  Britain  smashed  Ireland's 
harps  lest  the  bards  keep  alive  forever  her  kinship  with  the 
Spirits  of  Beauty. 

Only  fragments  of  the  music  are  left  to  her  —  death  and 
exile  were  the  penalties  for  giving  shelter  to  a  bard,  or 
giving  ear  to  his  harping.  An  old  man  of  Laherdane  told 
me  a  human  life  had  been  paid  twice  over  for  every  note 
of  every  ancient  Irish  song  preserved  to  us  in  this  day. 
All  that  is  left  are  a  few  airs  to  which  the  moderns  strive 
to  fit  words,  or  a  few  verses  to  which  they  strive  to  fit 
music,  yet  the  beauty  of  the  fragments  are  worth  all  the 
strivings. 

By  this  you  will  see  that,  as  a  lad,  I  was  overswept 
by  the  great  wave  of  ancientness  of  the  land  —  and  the 
charm  of  it.  You  have  seen  Raymond,  and  you  will 
know  without  any  telling  that  he  lived  beside  me  for 
years,  yet  never  saw  the  Ireland  I  was  enthralled  by.  We 
had  the  different  eyes  and  the  different  heart  for  its 
reading. 

I  thought  often  enough  how  strange  it  was  that  while 
he  was  near  double  the  years  of  me,  yet  it  was  the  new 

[248] 


RANDUFFrOFCUMANAC 

things  of  today  he  was  alive  to :  the  trading  of  nations,  and 
the  financing  of  American  mines,  and  such  like,  with  never 
a  thought  of  even  the  policies  of  kingdoms  further  in  the 
past  than  his  own  generation  ;  while  I  lay  hidden  from 
my  English  tutor  on  the  cliffs  above  the  bay,  and  tried  to 
picture  the  gray-blue  mist  by  which  the  magical  Danaans 
made  a  wall  between  themselves  and  the  foreign  invaders 
while  their  hidden  palaces  under  the  green  hills  were  being 
made  ready  for  their  using. 

I  knew  the  magical  and  majestic  Danaans  of  the  land 
had  dwindled  in  earth-power  with  the  centuries,  until  in 
our  day  they  are  spoken  of  as  fairies,  or  earth-spirits,  but 
that  lessened  none  of  their  interest  to  me.  They  had,  for 
some  mystic  reason,  drawn  the  veil  of  the  invisible  over 
their  life.  But  the  life  did  endure,  and  was  often  close 
akin  to  certain  living  mortals. 

For  hours  I  would  lie  thus  in  the  grasses,  listening  to 
the  whisper  of  winds  and  waves,  singing  with  them  at 
times,  listening  for  echoes,  until  the  soft  flight  of  velvet- 
winged  bats  from  the  cliff  caves  sent  me  home  in  the  dark 
to  tell  my  mother  and  my  tutor  the  many  echoes  of  ancient 
years  I  had  heard  out  there  with  only  sea  and  sky,  bird 
and  wind  voices  for  my  telling. 

I  did  not  mean  to  speak  falsely  when  I  averred,  despite 
lectures  from  my  tutor  and  scoldings  from  my  mother, 
that  the  birds  did  speak,  and  that  the  wind  did  bring  whis 
pering  voices  which  none  but  I  could  hear.  I  heard  them, 
felt  their  presence,  and  at  times  the  veil  between  this  and 
that  other  life  was  so  thin  that  I  could  see  the  glad  sun 
light  on  faces  that  came  —  I  knew  not  whence  !  Slowly, 
as  I  grew  older,  they  faded  —  as  do  the  many  other  dreams 
that  come  to  children. 

But  the  echo  of  the  whispers  remained;  through  all  of 
life  they  have  seemed  to  prepare  me  for  what  was  to  come. 

[249] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


And  if  my  sentence  from  the  court  is  death,  I  feel  that  the 
same  voices  will  greet  me  again,  and  will  say :  "  Rest  you 
now;  the  time  has  been  long  to  you  since  you  wandered 
away.  Your  work  in  that  life  is  over.  Rest  you  with  us." 

So  I  grew  up,  my  mind  full  of  fancies;  and  they  were 
odd  and  foolish,  and  frightening  to  my  mother. 

"  Sorrow  of  me,"  she  would  say,  scoldingly.  "  You  are 
like  a  changeling  of  different  blood.  You  do  naught  but 
dream  in  idleness,  and  see  unchristian  things  that  are  the 
outgrowth  of  lazy  brains." 

It  would  be  of  no  use  in  the  world  to  tell  her  that  at 
times  I  dreamed  true  —  like  the  secret  stairway,  and  the 
lost  underground  hall  to  which  I  had  found  the  lichen- 
covered  door.  To  say  aught  to  her  of  these  things  in 
argument  only  sent  her  to  her  prayers  —  or  to  her  priest, 
who  deemed  me  but  a  hopeless  liar,  and  an  unrepentant 
one. 

Only  Raymond  did  not  scold.  "  Never  you  mind,  mother, 
he  is  but  a  boy,"  I  have  often  heard  him  say;  "and  why 
should  he  do  aught  but  dream  and  sing  old  songs  if  his 
happiness  is  in  that?  He  has  income  enough  to  be  at  no 
one's  expense  but  his  own." 

In  our  house  were  many  old  books  of  the  tribes  of  the 
Cumanac,  and  quaint  old  pictures  of  our  people.  My 
mother  never  looked  at  them.  She  only  had  care  of  them 
because  her  mother  had  known  them  as  treasures.  Kings 
had  been  of  our  family  in  the  past,  and  mystical  druid 
rulers  in  the  dim  shadow  ages.  The  old  legends  and  tra 
ditions  over  which  I  pored  as  I  grew  older  told  me  of  the 
beauty  of  our  women,  the  bravery  of  our  men,  and  the  high 
esteem  in  which  they  were  held  even  by  their  enemies  of 
the  east  and  north.  They  lived  in  the  feudal  grandeur  of 
those  days  —  kings  in  their  own  territory. 

Then  the  curse  came! 

[  250 1 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


All  those  talcs  of  a  life  so  different  to  that  around  me 
made  a  lasting  impression  on  my  imagination.  I  seemed 
to  live  in  the  lives  of  those  who  were  gone  centuries  before 
I  was  born.  And  when  alone  in  some  old  room  of  the 
castle  with  my  books  about  me,  or  alone  in  the  hills  in 
the  night  with  my  memories  of  dreams  about  me,  I  had 
strange  temptings  at  times.  If  my  self-confidence  had 
equaled  my  convictions,  I  would  have  turned  scribe  and 
supplied  many  missing  chapters  in  the  old  histories. 
Strangely  enough,  it  was  not  history  at  all  that  I  wanted 
to  write,  but  it  was  the  lost  songs  of  Ancient  Ireland,  and 
they  held  themselves  high  in  the  air  —  the  words  never 
came  near  —  only  fugitive  melodies  and  the  thrilling  harp! 

I  think  now  I  should  have  written  the  history  as  it  came 
clear  in  my  mind,  and  at  times  in  scribbling  idleness  to  my 
pen's  point.  The  flashes  of  the  ancient  life  were  as  a 
schooling  for  my  mind  and  my  hand.  I  think  the  songs 
would  have  followed  if  I  had  done  good  work.  ...  It 
is  my  grief  that  I  have  lost  the  chance  for  this  life.  They 
come  not  again  to  a  closed  door. 


I  was  seventeen  my  mother  died.  That  left 
Raymond  and  me  all  alone,  for  his  father  had 
already  gone  the  Way.  He  was  like  a  father  to  me 
always  in  his  care  and  the  quietness  of  his  love.  One  day 
he  came  to  me  with  some  papers  he  had  found  in  an  old 
desk.  My  mother,  and  her  mother  before  her,  had  taken  no 
heed  to  them;  but  they  concerned  a  property  in  Scotland 
to  which  he  said  I  was  the  heir  through  an  ancient  branch 
of  our  family. 

C251] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


"What  will  we  do?"  I  asked  him.  Scotch  cousins  did 
not  seem  near  to  me.  That  people  had  helped  break  the 
harps. 

"  I  must  go  myself  and  see  about  it,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  not 
a  large  property  and  may  have  gone  to  the  Crown  through 
being  unclaimed.  But  by  going  I  may  at  least  find  in  it 
some  old  books  such  as  you  fancy,  or  some  old  pictures 
for  you  to  dream  over." 

That  is  what  he  said  :  "  some  old  books  or  old  pictures 
for  you  to  dream  over." 

Aye !   The  dreams  he  made  true  for  me  by  that  going ! 

In  that  way  he  went  from  me  to  be  back  in  a  month,  but 
letter  after  letter  came,  pleading  business  details  to  be 
arranged.  My  claim  was  made  good,  but  it  required  much 
attention  to  settle  the  matters  connected  with  it.  So  time 
went  on  until  many  weeks  had  passed.  Then  at  last  came 
a  letter  which  explained  all,  and  it  said : 

"Fergal,  my  brother  — 

"  I  have  news  to  tell  you  —  news  I  hope  you  will  be  glad  to 
hear.  Tomorrow  I  am  to  be  married.  It  all  seems  very  sudden 
to  send  you  word  thus,  but  she  has  been  left  alone  in  the  world 
by  death  — herself  the  last  of  the  ancient  family  of  the  Galway 
castle,  who,  I  have  heard  you  say,  were  your  forefathers'  enemies 
ages  ago.  Her  name  is  Ednah;  she  is  the  last  of  their  line,  and 
you  the  last  of  yours.  I  give  her  to  you  as  a  sister,  and  thus  we 
will  bury  the  old  hates  of  Erin  and  Albion." 

I  read  this  letter  as  in  a  dream.  I  had  never  thought  of 
the  marrying  of  Raymond.  I  re-read  it,  trying  to  remem 
ber  all  the  tales  of  our  old  feud  with  her  people.  Why  did 
that  one  of  Randuff  and  White  Enora  come  first  and  keep 
uppermost  in  my  mind?  Parts  of  the  others  were  forgot 
ten.  It  alone  remained  undimmed  in  my  memory.  I  tried 
to  put  it  aside  and  think  only  of  Raymond.  I  thought  I 
succeeded,  at  least  in  the  daytime. 

[252] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


I  was  out  on  the  cliffs  when  they  arrived,  and  did  not 
see  them  at  once.  I  came  in  vexed  with  myself  for  for 
getting  the  hour  he  was  to  come.  I  found  them  in  a  room 
where  our  family  portraits  were  hung.  I  could  see  them 
through  the  door — he  so  large  and  massive,  she  so  slight 
and  fair.  His  arm  was  about  her  shoulders. 

I  hesitated ;  I  was  only  a  lad,  and  our  family  had  been 
one  with  family  affections,  but  little  of  outward  sign 
given  of  them  —  no  kisses,  no  embraces,  even  from  my 
mother;  and  the  sight  of  that  half-embrace  was  a 
strange  one  to  me.  It  made  me  feel  more  keenly  my 
own  aloneness.  Because  of  the  shyness  on  me  I  waited 
until  they  should  move.  They  had  stopped  before  my 
picture. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  asked,  and  her  voice  was  music. 

"  It  is  my  brother  Fergal,"  said  Raymond.  "  He  should 
be  here  now  —  the  idle,  dreaming  fellow.  He  has  forgot 
ten.  Come,  we  will  go  and  look  for  him." 

"  Wait,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  look  at  his  picture.  How 
different  from  all  the  rest  it  is.  Somewhere,  sometime  .  .  . 
I  have  seen  a  face  like  that,  or  a  picture,  but  where  — 
where?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  there  are  many  such  happy,  careless 
faces  among  boys,"  said  Raymond. 

"  But  is  it  quite  careless  ?  "  she  asked.  "  When  one  looks 
at  it  long  it  grows  sad,  then  stern  —  and  the  eyes  —  ah, 
those  eyes !  If  he  looks  at  me  in  that  way  I  shall  fear  him, 
Raymond." 

Raymond  put  his  hand  over  her  eyes,  and  laughed  and 
kissed  her  on  the  mouth.  I  went  chill  in  the  heart  at  that 
kiss. 

"What  a  foolish  child  you  are,"  he  said.  "You  and 
Fergal  are  alike  in  your  imaginings." 

Then  they  turned  and  saw  me.  Raymond  looked  so 

[253] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


happy  and  so  different  that  I  was  glad.    But  I  do  not  know 
if  I  can  find  words  to  tell  how  she  looked. 

She  was  fair  and  babyish,  with  little  ways  and  move 
ments  like  a  white  kitten.  Her  hair  was  the  yellow  of  the 
cornsilk,  and  her  eyes  as  blue  as  the  violet  which  grows 
always  in  the  shade.  She  reached  out  her  hands  to  me  in 
a  pretty  childish  way. 

"We  are  to  be  brother  and  sister,"  she  said.  "I  hope 
we  shall  all  be  very  happy  together." 

I  barely  touched  the  hands  of  her  —  such  pretty  hands  — 
but  that  touch  tingled  through  all  my  blood.  I  stammered 
and  blushed  with  embarrassment.  I  had  known  so  few 
women,  and  none  well,  and  I  had  never  seen  any  as  beau 
tiful  as  my  brother's  wife.  She  was  dainty  and  delicate 
as  the  snow  maiden  that  fades  when  brought  down  to  the 
level  where  humanity  lives. 

Perhaps  that  was  why  I  feared  to  touch  her,  even.  If 
I  did  by  chance,  my  hand  would  tremble  and  my  face  flush. 
She  laughed  over  it  to  Raymond. 

"  He  will  never  be  my  brother,"  she  said.  "  He  is  as  shy 
of  me  as  if  I  were  still  a  stranger." 

One  day  Raymond  spoke  to  me  of  it: 

"  Why  are  you  so  foolish,"  he  asked.  "  Ednah  wonders 
why  you  have  dislike  of  her.  You  are  almost  of  an  age  — 
born  in  the  same  year  —  and  should  be  better  friends. 
Yet  you  range  the  mountains  alone  more  than  ever.  Even 
the  books  are  forgotten  by  you." 

In  answer  I  asked  to  go  away  to  school,  or  to  travel.  I 
had  never  before  cared  for  anything  but  our  old  house 
and  the  forest  near,  or  the  musty  books  in  the  time-worn 
cases.  Now  the  air  had  grown  close ;  all  the  quiet  of  the 
forest,  all  the  hum  in  the  grasses,  could  not  bring  to  me 
their  old,  drowsy  rest;  and  the  wind  no  more  carried 
echoes  of  whispering  voices ! 

[254] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


"  Perhaps  it  is  best  that  you  should  go,"  said  Raymond. 
"  Travel  may  cure  you  of  this  strangeness  and  shyness.  I 
shall  give  up  this  place  for  a  while  and  cross  seas.  Ednah 
has  horror  of  these  old  walls,  and  will  stay  in  no  room  of 
them  alone.  When  you  join  us  again  you  will  find  us  in 
some  sunnier  place." 


I  made  my  farewells  and  went  wandering.  For 
three  years  I  never  saw  Ireland.  All  that  time  I 
was  going,  going  — never  at  rest.  And  though 
through  every  hour  of  it  I  longed  to  go  back,  and  feared 
to,  I  could  not  explain  whence  the  fear  came. 

Then  Raymond  wrote  to  me  in  Spain  to  join  them  here. 
I  was  almost  twenty-two.  There  were  property  matters 
to  be  arranged,  and  my  presence  was  required.  I  am  not 
sure  if  I  was  glad  or  not.  I  did  not  sleep  at  all,  and  I 
sailed  on  the  first  ship. 

Once  on  the  sea  the  fear  fell  away.  Almost  the  music 
of  dreams  came  back  to  me.  The  three  years  of  wandering 
had  driven  out  the  dreams  and  remembrance  had  not  been 
happiness. 

But  the  ship  to  the  west  brought  me  into  starry  nights 
of  sweetness  and  wonderful  dreams  when  all  the  world 
was  of  hope,  for  the  fear  was  gone  on  the  waves. 

Raymond  did  not  expect  me  so  soon,  and  I  found  their 
new  home  all  alone.  Only  Ednah  was  there.  She  ran 
down  the  steps  to  meet  me.  Back  of  her  was  a  tall  hound. 

"Fergal,  Fergal!"  she  said,  and  the  blue  eyes  of  her 
•were  bright  as  if  with  tears. 

I  am  not  knowing  if  I  spoke  to  her  — I  think  I  did  not. 

[255] 


But  I  took  her  hand.  She  offered  her  cheek  as  if  for  a 
brother's  caress,  but  I  did  not  touch  it.  I  only  looked  at 
her,  and  we  walked  up  the  steps  together,  and  the  hound 
followed. 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  today  you  came, "  she  said.  "  I  am  all 
alone.  Ah,  we  have  wanted  you  so  often !  The  world  felt 
so  empty  —  empty  as  all  my  life  used  to  be!  Now  all 
will  be  different  —  you  are  here." 

She  showed  me  a  portrait  lately  finished  of  her  with  the 
hound  at  her  knee.  The  artist  had  asked  that  one  be 
secured  for  the  painting,  and  Raymond  had  tried  to  find 
one  to  look  most  like  an  Irish  wolfhound  for  the  harsh 
note  of  contrast  with  her  own  whiteness.  She  told  this 
frankly  as  a  child,  and  laughed  because  the  dog  would  not 
follow  Raymond  when  she  was  near.  Then  she  showed 
me  all  their  wonderful  new  home,  and  the  Italian  garden 
above  the  river,  and  a  wonderful  pergola  where  yellow 
roses  and  crimson  roses  burned  like  flame. 

We  sat  in  that  dream  place  through  the  sunset.  I  lis 
tened  and  said  little.  Her  glad  voice  was  as  cool,  sweet 
rain  that  falls  on  sun-scorched  sands.  I  was  beside  her 
until  the  dusk,  drinking  in  tones  of  music,  but  never  once 
did  I  look  in  her  eyes. 

And  Raymond  came  when  the  night  fell. 

I  scarce  know  how  to  tell  of  the  days  to  follow.  The 
fear  and  shyness  came  back  to  me.  But  I  was  older  and 
could  hide  it  more  than  when  she  first  came  to  my  sight, 
and  Raymond  had  pleasure  to  think  I  was  feeling  more 
friendly  toward  the  lovely  wife.  But  I  avoided  being 
alone  with  her,  and  with  the  tall  hound  ever  her  shadow. 

Even  when  she  rode  horseback  above  the  cliffs  of  the 
river  the  hound  was  at  the  heels  of  her  horse,  and  was 
known  widely  by  the  new  friends  of  Raymond.  The  por 
trait  was  shown  in  a  great  gallery,  and  was  called  "  Beauty 

[256] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


and  the  Beast."  But  you  have  seen  that,  and  know  the 
pride  of  Raymond  that  she  was  his.  He  housed  and 
dressed  and  adored  her  as  queen  of  the  world. 

But  it  was  herself  gave  long,  strange  looks  to  me,  and 
looks  of  question  they  were,  too.  Everyone  sought  her 
except  myself,  and  she  was  noting  that,  even  though  the 
eyes  of  Raymond  were  blind  by  his  love  for  us  both. 

One  day  I  came  in  with  scarlet  blossoms  for  which  she 
had  asked. 

She  was  coming  down  the  great  stairs  and  smiled  at  me. 
"How  lovely,"  she  said;  "we  have  dinner-guests  to 
night,  but  I  shall  wear  no  jewels.  I  want  only  those  scarlet 
blossoms  in  my  hair;  bring  them  in  here  to  the  music- 
room." 

I  followed  her,  and  stood  there  holding  the  flowers ;  but 
she  did  not  take  them.  She  only  looked  at  me  and  laughed 
a  little. 

"  One  would  think  me  an  old  witch-wife  of  your  Irish 
hills,  you  shun  me  so,  brother  Fergal,"  she  said,  "and  I 
think  I  shall  make  you  do  penance  here.  You  must  fasten 
the  blossoms  in  my  hair  with  your  own  hands.  You  should 
learn  to  be  gallant,  Fergal,  else  when  you  meet  your  lady 
love  you  will  never  know  how  to  woo  her. " 

I  held  the  flowers  in  silence  and  tried  to  fasten  them. 
My  fingers  were  shaking.  The  perfume  of  her  hair  made 
me  drunk  as  wine. 

"  Your  hands  are  nervous  doing  work  so  new  to  them," 
she  said,  and  laughed.  "  You  foolish  boy,  what  can  I  do 
more  than  to  fit  up  this  room  for  you  only,  with  its  Irish 
harp  and  its  Irish  music  and  a  pot  of  Shamrock  in  each 
window.  It  is  enough  to  make  any  other  man  love  me  — 
but  not  Fergal  ! "  she  said,  and  sighed,  and  then  laughed. 
I  could  not  answer  her  words  of  light  mocking,  and  the 
great  hound,  stretched  at  her  feet,  arose  and  the  bristles 

[257] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


on  his  neck  stood  upright  as  my  hands  touched  her  hair. 
He  was  ever  on  guard  for  her,  and  it  was  a  jest  that  she 
had  to  put  chain  on  him  for  the  lessons  with  a  dancing- 
master.  He  would  allow  no  stranger  to  touch  her,  and 
me  he  was  ever  watching  in  jealousy. 

Raymond's  wife  noted  it,  and  laughed. 

"He  has  the  jealousy  of  a  man  in  love,"  she  said,  "but 
you  know  nothing  of  that  jealousy,  for  it  is  only  books  and 
old  music  you  have  in  your  mind.  You  are  almost  a  year 
older  than  I,  and  have  traveled  around  the  world,  yet  are 
afraid  of  women.  And  to  think  I  once  dreamed  of  fearing 
you  —  or  your  picture  —  that  is  amusing  to  me  now!  I 
have  never  once  seen  your  eyes  look  in  a  rage  as  I  thought 
they  might.  But  it  is  seldom  you  favor  me  even  with  a 
glance.  I  doubt  if  you  could  tell  the  color  of  my  eyes." 

So  she  chattered  on,  smiling  up  at  me,  mocking  at  my 
silence  and  at  my  shaking  hand. 

"  I  have  fear  that  this  will  not  be  done  to  your  pleasure," 
I  said  at  last. 

She  laughed  again.  "  Fergal,"  she  said,  "  is  it  all  women 
you  are  fearing,  or  only  me?" 

As  she  spoke  her  head  was  turned  to  look  up  at  me.  I 
still  held  the  flowers  in  her  hair.  My  wrist  was  near  her 
cheek.  In  turning,  her  lips  touched  it.  Perhaps  it  was 
accident.  I  do  not  know. 

The  golden  hair  of  her  was  over  my  hands,  her  red 
mouth  on  my  wrist,  and  the  wonderful  child-eyes  of  her 
looking  into  my  own.  She  raised  one  hand  and  clasped 
my  arm.  I  threw  it  from  me  with  a  force  that  staggered 
her  back  to  the  wall,  and  the  tall  hound  pressed  close  to 
her  and  growled  deep  threat  to  me.  The  flowers  in  my 
hand  I  dashed  to  the  floor,  and  I  left  her  there  like  that. 
As  I  went  down  the  steps  I  heard  my  name  called  by  her, 
but  I  never  looked  back. 

[2583 


That  night  I  spent  in  the  forest. 

When  morning  came  again  I  told  Raymond  that  my 
wandering  years  were  not  over.  The  Foreign  Legion  of 
France  might  need  another  sabre.  I  was  willing  to  offer 
one  to  her —  or  to  Ireland,  if  need  arose  in  the  south.  And 
it  was  not  a  time  for  youth  to  be  easy  in  comfort  in  any 
house. 

Raymond  laughed,  and  said  I  could  send  money  enough 
to  buy  them  a  seasoned  soldier  instead  of  myself,  and  told 
me  he  would  take  it  ill  if  I  sailed  before  Ednah's  birthday, 
for  it  was  in  his  mind  to  give  an  entertainment  that  I 
might  meet  their  many  new  friends.  His  wife  joined  us 
in  silence  and  clasped  his  arm  and  stood  with  eyes  down 
cast.  She  looked  very  white  and  very  childish.  We  had 
not  spoken. 

"  You  young  people  have  been  dull  here,"  her  husband 
said.  "  Suppose  we  have  a  ball  for  your  birthnight ;  some 
thing  to  repay  the  great  hospitality  of  the  people.  What 
do  you  say,  my  child?  I  must  not  have  you  lonely." 

She  spoke  her  pleasure,  and,  the  choice  of  entertainment 
being  left  to  her,  it  was  a  masquerade  she  made  choice  of. 
"  It  is  more  gaiety, "  she  said. 

"A  masque  it  shall  be,  then,"  said  Raymond.  "And 
you,  Fergal,  must  have  no  thought  of  leaving  us  until 
after  that." 

"Are  you  going  again?"  she  asked,  and  her  blue  eyes 
had  pleading  in  them. 

I  could  make  her  no  answer. 

"  So  he  threatens,"  said  Raymond.  "  You  must  help  me 
to  persuade  him  to  be  sensible  and  stay  where  he  is.  Per 
haps  we  can  find  him  a  sweetheart  at  the  ball.  You  must 
get  a  fine  dress,  Fergal,  and  we  shall  have  it  the  night 
Ednah  is  twenty-two." 

I  was  arranging  some  books  in  a  case  while  they  talked. 

[259] 


^HSRANDUFF'OFCUMANAC 


I  did  not  want  to  look  in  her  eyes  and  see  the  appeal  there. 
One  of  the  volumes  slipped  from  my  hand  to  the  floor.  It 
was  our  old  book  of  legends,  and  it  lay  open  at  the  tale  of 
Randuff  and  White  Enora. 

"  Here  is  my  dress,"  I  said,  and  tried  to  laugh.  "  What 
was  good  enough  for  our  ancestors  centuries  ago  is  good 
enough  for  me  now.  I  shall  wear  the  dress  of  Randuff 
of  Cumanac.  Here  is  a  description  of  it  in  the  legend." 

Ednah  stared  at  me.  "  Randuff  of  Cumanac,"  she  half 
whispered,  "do  you  mean  that  *  Randuff'  of  the  Lady 
Enora's  song?" 

"  Yes,  if  that  is  what  you  are  calling  him,"  I  said,  "  but 
the  song  I  never  heard." 

" How  do  you  know  of  him?"  asked  Raymond. 

"I  heard  the  rhyme  of  the  killing  often  when  I  was  a 
child,"  she  said.  "  My  grandmother  never  tired  repeating 
the  old  tales  of  our  ancestors.  It  gave  me  fear  of  the  wild 
Irish.  How  bitter  those  old  traditions  made  the  people! 
The  Lady  Enora  was  sung  as  a  very  brave  maid.  Grand 
mother  always  spoke  of  the  Cumanac  as  our  enemy.  Had 
she  lived  she  would  not  have  allowed  me  to  be  under  the 
same  roof  with  a  descendant  of  theirs  —  never  ! " 

"  How  ridiculous  in  this  age  to  remember  the  old  feudal 
hates,"  said  Raymond.  *'I  do  not  think  the  mother  of 
Fergal  knew  even  the  legend.  She  read  only  books  of 
piety,  and  was  too  sensible  to  take  heed  of  hates  so 
unchristian." 

"It  may  seem  silly  to  you,"  said  his  wife,  "but  my 
grandmother  was  thought  a  wise  woman." 

"What  will  be  your  dress?"  asked  Raymond,  stroking 
her  hair  in  a  caress. 

"  I  think  I  shall  not  tell  either  of  you  that,"  she  said. 
"It  will  be  much  more  amusing  to  puzzle  you.  I  shall 
receive  my  guests  in  evening  dress  and  then  mask  in  what- 

[260] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


ever  I  decide  upon.    You  must  not  coax  me  to  tell.    On  my 
birthnight  you  must  let  me  have  my  own  way." 

My  friend,  this  story  may  seem  strangely  long  to  you, 
but  when  I  write  of  it,  every  word,  every  look,  is  coming 
back  to  me. 

No  persuasions  could  induce  Raymond  to  mask  the  night 
of  the  ball.  "  I  am  too  old,"  he  protested.  "At  forty-five, 
people  lose  zest  for  masques." 

My  dress  they  called  a  success,  but  Ednah  said : 

"  There  is  one  thing  needed  for  that  costume :  you  have 
no  dagger." 

"  It  was  forgotten  by  the  costumer,"  I  told  her,  "  and  I 
had  none  that  would  answer." 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  "  I  have  one —  an  heirloom.  How  old 
it  is  I  do  not  know.  We  had  several  in  an  old  chest. 
Grandmother  knew  the  history  of  each,  but  I  never  could 
remember  them.  I  kept  a  very  ancient  Spanish  one  for  a 
paper  knife :  I  am  sure  it  will  do." 

She  left  us,  running  along  the  hall,  the  great  hound  leap 
ing  beside  her  in  play,  her  white  ball  dress  fluttering  like 
wings;  to  see  her  thus  none  would  have  thought  such  a 
childish  butterfly  could  be  the  hostess  of  the  evening. 

Raymond  looked  after  her  in  pride  and  great  content. 

"  Like  a  child  she  is,"  he  said.  "Just  as  thoughtless  and 
innocent ;  twenty-two  today,  and  does  not  look  seventeen. 
Ah,  Fergal,  there  is  only  one  life  for  a  man :  you  must  also 
get  a  wife.  You  will  be  more  content  to  stay  home  from 
wars  then." 

I  had  no  answer  for  him,  and  he  laughed  at  me  as  he 
watched  her  come  back  with  the  dagger.  It  swung  by 
a  silver  chain  and  there  were  jeweled  clasps  to  the 
chain.  The  handle  formed  a  cross,  and  the  sheath  was 
oddly  carved  and  inlaid;  the  blade  .  .  .  but  you  have 
seen  it! 

C261] 


_R  AN  DUFF  OF  CUMANAC 

^^Egjsai*^     m  'EL____3 i  B  _ 

I  tried  to  clasp  it,  but  the  fastenings  were  difficult  to 
manage. 

"Clasp  it  for  him,  Ednah,"  said  Raymond.  "I  must 
have  this  hound  chained  for  you,  else  no  mask  will  serve 
you  or  no  stranger  be  let  dance  with  you."  So  he  spoke 
and  laughed  and  left  us  alone. 

The  chain  of  the  girdle  was  in  her  hand  and  her  eyes 
on  mine.  " Shall  I?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  please,"  I  answered,  "  since  your  husband  bids." 

"I  am  more  kind  to  you  than  you  are  deserving,"  she 
said,  and  sighed.  "  You  have  not  even  said  you  were  sorry 
for  hurting  me  that  day." 

"  If  ever  I  have  hurt  you,  I  am  sorry,"  I  said  as  coldly 
as  I  could,  but  I  feared  while  I  spoke  that  she  would  know 
the  tremble  in  my  throat.  I  might  have  been  brutal  that 
day,  but  to  tell  her  so  I  did  not  dare ;  I  was  afraid.  And 
looking  down  at  the  bent  golden  head  of  her,  I  told  myself 
that  never  another  day  should  see  me  under  the  roof  with 
my  brother's  wife. 

"You  are  hurting  me  now,"  she  whispered.  "Fergal, 
you  are  hurting  me  always  when  you  speak  to  me  with 
that  ice  in  your  voice." 

"  Never  will  you  hear  it  after  tonight,"  I  answered.  "  I 
am  going  tomorrow." 

She  stared  at  me,  and  put  out  her  hand  as  if  about  to 
speak,  then  dropped  it  and  walked  away. 

The  ball  was  a  very  gay  one.  I  surprised  Raymond 
by  showing  no  shyness  whatever  among  the  ladies 
who  thronged  the  rooms.  He  said  the  mask  gave  me 
boldness.  He  was  trying  to  discover  his  wife,  and  had 
failed. 

"  Several  times  I  thought  I  had  found  Her,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  am  always  mistaken.  She  has  been  very  cunning.  If 
you  find  her  first,  Fergal,  bring  her  to  me." 

[262] 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


I  danced  and  jested  with  many,  but  in  none  did  I 
discover  her. 

At  last,  wearying  of  all  the  gay  pretenses,  I  went  out 
into  the  night.  The  Italian  garden  above  the  cliffs  was 
deserted  by  others  for  the  dance,  and  the  pergola  of  the 
yellow  roses  was  my  own.  It  was  there  I  had  sat  that  first 
evening  of  her  witcheries.  And  there  I  sat  again  with 
my  head  in  my  hands  —  wishing  for  the  dawn  that  would 
take  me  away  without  offense  to  the  man  I  felt  deep  love 
for. 


moon  was  at  full  and  the  grounds  almost  as  day 
except  under  the  thick  vines.  Music  came  faintly 
to  my  ears  through  the  open  windows,  and  dew  lay 
over  the  grass  like  dust  from  the  stars.  A  bed  of  petunias 
near  me  exhaled  that  fragrance  which  the  moon,  but  never 
the  sun,  has  power  to  draw  out. 

The  peace  of  it  all  oppressed  me.  The  perfume  of  the 
flowers  was  sweet,  but  I  hid  my  face  in  my  hands.  I  knew 
that  the  time  was  past  when  the  scent  of  flowers  or  music 
of  winds  or  my  own  dreams  would  bring  content  to  me. 
Better,  I  thought,  if  I  were  dead  and  forgotten  as  the 
Randuff  whose  dress  I  wore. 

How  long  I  was  sitting  there  I  do  not  know.  At  last  I 
felt  that  I  was  not  alone,  and  looked  up.  By  my  side  was 
a  girl  in  a  dress  such  as  I  had  never  seen  save  in  antique 
pictures.  It  was  of  something  with  lights  in  it  like  the 
waves  of  the  ocean  when  the  moon  shines.  Her  face  I 
could  not  see  for  the  misty  lace  over  it. 

The  glamour  of  the  scene  was  about  me.    I  forgot  the 

[263] 


crowds  dancing  within;  I  forgot  all  save  the  presence  of 
this  girl,  or  was  it  a  dream-girl  like  the  visions  of  my 
childhood? 

"  Who  are  you?"  I  asked,  and  there  was  awe  and  wonder 
on  me. 

"Do  you  not  know?"  came  the  answer  in  a  whisper, 
"Have  you  forgotten,  Randuff  of  Cumanac?" 

"Randuff?"  I  repeated,  scarcely  knowing  what  I  said. 
My  brain  seemed  whirling  and  the  music  of  the  dance 
drifted  away.  Through  it  I  heard  the  muffled,  far-off  bay 
of  a  hound ! 

The  girl  touched  me  with  her  hand,  and  I  held  it  fast. 
Her  presence  was  an  intoxication  of  joy  to  me.  I  have  no 
words  for  the  telling  of  the  witcheries  I  felt  myself  yield 
ing  to.  Was  I  Fergal  or  was  I  Randuff?  I  could  not  tell. 

"  Of  course,  Randuff,"  she  whispered  with  her  lips  on 
my  throat,  "and  I  am  your  Enora  who  has  found  you 
again.  This  night  only  is  ours  out  of  all  the  years  of  life. 
Were  you  wishing  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  was,"  I  said,  and  I  spoke  truth.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
all  of  life  had  been  nothing  but  waiting  for  that  one  night, 
and  her  near  me. 

"And  you  are  not  afraid  now?"  she  whispered. 

And  I  said:  "There  is  no  fear  on  me  of  anything  but 
to  lose  you  again,  as  we  have  lost  each  other  until  now." 

"We  have  only  this  night  out  of  all  the  others,"  she 
repeated.  "  Give  me  your  kisses,  Randuff." 

And  then  I  knew  what  a  woman's  kiss  meant  to  a  man, 
though  it  was  not  as  a  woman  I  was  thinking  of  her,  but  as 
a  spirit  of  the  far  past  come  back  for  that  one  night.  My 
arms  were  about  her  —  her  face  to  mine;  broken,  tender 
words  were  whispered  in  my  ears.  What  I  replied  I  do 
not  know.  I  felt  her  kiss  on  my  mouth;  I  heard  her 
breathless  whispers. 

[264] 


j?ANDUFFJ)FCUMANA(: 

And  back  of  it  all  I  heard  the  wild  baying  of  a  hound ! 

"One  night  of  life  together,  my  Randuff,"  she  sighed. 
"Is  it  not  worth  more  than  a  long  lifetime  apart?" 

I  could  not  speak  — I  could  not!  She  lifted  her  hand  to 
bring  my  face  again  to  hers.  Some  jewel  in  her  bracelet 
caught  in  the  lace  mask,  and  the  veil  of  lace  fell  from  about 
her  head. 

The  moon  shone  full  in  her  eyes  through  the  rose  vines 
of  the  pergola,  and  the  soul  of  me  was  frozen  there,  for 
the  girl  who  had  witched  me  by  the  touch  of  her  fingers 
—  whose  lips  I  had  kissed,  whose  love  I  had  taken  — was 
the  wife  of  my  brother  ! 

I  tried  to  rise ;  I  could  not.  I  tried  to  speak,  but  my 
tongue  seemed  paralyzed.  She  must  have  felt  something 
of  what  I  wanted  to  say.  for  terror  was  on  her,  and  she 
clung  to  me,  whispering : 

"  Don't,  Fergal ;  don't  look  at  me  like  that !  I  could  not 
have  you  go  away  so.  Now,  though  you  go,  I  will  know 
your  love  is  mine.  Nothing  can  change  that.  Your  love  is 
mine  ! " 

I  knew  she  was  speaking  the  truth.  Our  lives  were  each 
other's,  though  the  bond  of  it  was  sin.  I  heard  her  whis 
pers  in  a  strange,  double  sense,  for  in  clearness,  as  though 
there  was  no  other  sound  under  the  heavens,  I  was  hearing 
the  bay  of  a  hound,  and  him  on  a  trail ! 

She  came  closer  to  me.  Her  lips  were  touching  mine 
which  were  locked,  giving  no  response  to  her  caresses.  I 
was  as  a  man  struck  dumb  with  the  horror.  My  brother  — 
who  had  been  like  a  kind  father  to  me,  always! 

When  I  could  hear  her  again,  she  was  whispering : 

"Why  must  you  go  — ever?  Do  not  be  leaving  me. 
Raymond  need  never  know  —  " 

Then  it  was  that  I  killed  her,  as  the  hound,  in  great 
leaps,  entered  the  pergola,  dragging  his  chain  in  the  moon- 

[2651 


RANDUFFOFCUMANAC 


light.  One  blow  of  the  dagger,  and  she  lay  on  my  arm, 
white  and  innocent-looking  as  a  sleeping  child.  The  hound 
leaped  for  me,  but  the  same  dagger  caught  him  in  the 
throat.  Another  stroke  left  him  twitching  and  quivering 
at  my  feet. 

I  stood  between  them,  watching  them  long,  to  be  sure 
no  breath  of  life  was  there  to  come  back. 

Then  I  lifted  her  in  my  arms  and  bore  her  to  the  house. 
On  straight  through  the  rooms  I  went,  where  the  masked 
dancers  scattered  with  shrieks  from  my  path.  At  last  I 
saw  Raymond,  and  carried  her  to  him. 

"  I  have  found  your  wife,"  I  said,  and  laid  her  in  his  arms. 

And  for  that,  the  judges,  who  cannot  know,  will  be  giv 
ing  me  death.  FERGAL. 


[266] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


Sixteenth.  Cent 


DARK  HOSE) 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


ND  gun-peal,  and  slogan  cry 

Wal^e,  man})  a  glen  serene, 
Ere  you  shall  fade,  ere  you  shall  die, 

My  Dark  Rosaleen! 

My  Own  Rosaleen! 
The  Judgment  Hour  must  first  be  nigh, 
Ere  you  can  fade,  ere  you  can  diet 

My  Dark  Rosaleen  f 


The  lad  Hugh  scarce  knew  he  was  breathing  the  words, 
singing  through  his  mind.  Old  Shamas  Ronayne  had  been 
telling  over  the  tale  of  Red  Hugh  O'Donnell,  dead  in 
Spain  three  hundred  years  ago,  yet  alive  and  youthful  over 
all  the  land  where  his  song  of  the  dark  rose  was  sung. 


My  Dark  Rosaleen! 
My  Own  Rosaleen! 

"  And  he  also  had  the  name  of  Hugh  on  him.  It's  myself 
is  wishful  I  could  see  a  man  like  that  in  our  own  day  — 
Shamas  swears  they  don't  make  them  any  more." 

He  followed  the  sheep  up  through  gorse  and  fern  in 
the  Kerry  hills,  and  cut  himself  a  rude  flute  of  alder,  and 
strove  to  catch  the  notes  of  the  song  on  it,  and  tried  again 

[269] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

softly  whistling  with  a  blade  of  grass  held  over  his  lips, 
and  gave  both  up  for  the  murmured  words : 

O  mi?  Dark  Rosaleen! 

Do  not  sigh,  do  not  weep; 
The  ships  are  on  the  ocean  green; 

The])  march  along  the  deep! 

The  drifting  glory  of  the  clouds,  silver  and  luminous 
and  softly  gray,  made  wondrous  forms  and  pictures  against 
the  blue  of  the  sky,  and  the  deeper,  darker  blue  of  the  far 
sea.  He  drowsed  there  over  the  mystery  of  Rosaleen  — 
had  she  been  a  maid  beloved  and  estranged  ?  Or,  was  she, 
indeed,  a  dear  secret  name  for  the  shadowed  land  for  which 
O'Donnell  had  fought  and  from  which  he  was  self-exiled? 

The  suantre  of  the  sleepy  winds  lulled  the  lad  into  slum 
ber  before  he  decided  the  centuries-old  mystery,  but  it 
remained  with  him  in  a  misty  dream,  and  in  the  dream 
he  saw  that  the  dark  rose  —  the  hidden  rose  —  was  a 
Leanan  Sidhe,  a  fair  mistress  of  the  Secret  People  whose 
magic  palaces  were  hidden  under  ancient  raths  of  green, 
and  where  legendary  heroes  waited  the  mystic  music  of 
the  awakening  on  Erinn's  day  of  destiny. 

There  was,  in  this  confused  dreaming,  more  than  a  little 
of  the  tellings  or  the  singings  of  old  Shamas  by  the  peat 
fire  in  the  long  twilights.  A  glen  on  the  Kerry  coast, 
where  the  sea-rovers  of  thirty  centuries  agone  left  records 
on  the  white  strands,  is  a  wonder-place  for  dreams.  Queen 
Banva  of  the  rath  on  Slieve  Mish  gave  her  name  to  the 
island  in  that  place  and  was  consort  of  King  of  the  Forest 
in  far-dim  days  when  the  forests  were  mighty  and  the  great 
brown  deer  ran  in  countless  herds  and  were  gentled  and 
gave  milk  only  to  the  music  of  the  voices  of  maidens  — 
and  the  soothing  and  crooning  and  gentling  harmonies 
of  that  music  remain  today,  and  is  called  the  "music  of 

[270] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

Fairie,"  and  men  wonder  at  the  sweetness  of  it,  and  the 
living  spirit  of  it. 

The  giant  deer  are  gone,  and  the  forests  of  wonder  are 
gone  —  and  the  speech  of  that  day  was  long  forbidden  — 
only  the  spirit  of  the  music  has  lived  in  the  hearts  of  the 
children  of  Banva. 


;O  the  lad,  Hugh,  whose  head  was  ever  filled  with  one 
old  legend,  or  another  old  song,  merged  crowned 
Banva  the  Fair,  and  a  nameless  fairy  sweetheart, 
and  the  dark  mystic  rose-maid,  immortalized  by  Mangan, 
into  his  dream  there  on  the  hillside  in  Kerry,  and  had  grief 
that  each  was  sad,  for  their  tears  were  falling  and  his  words 
of  comfort  were  useless,  and  the  music  of  the  song  came 
to  his  help,  and  he  awoke  himself  with  the  whisper  : 

O  my  Dark  Rosaleen! 

Do  not  sigh  —  do  not  n>e€p/ 

But  it  was  not  tears  at  all  that  were  falling  on  his  face 
and  his  hands:  it  was  a  swift,  showery  rain  falling  between 
two  great  blue  and  sunny  plains  of  the  sky  — just  one 
drifting  cloud  of  rain  from  Slieve  Mish,  and  it  above  him ! 

The  sheep  were  over  the  hill  and  beyond,  and  guilt  was 
on  him  as  he  ran  after,  pelted  by  the  rain. 

Through  the  gray  mist  of  it  he  could  see  the  patch  of 
white  they  made  on  a  sunny  knoll  toward  which  the 
shadow  of  the  rain-cloud  was  moving. 

But  a  nearer  sound  came  to  his  ears  through  the  swift 
drive  of  the  shower —  the  bleat  of  a  lamb,  astray  from  a 
heartless  parent.  He  stood  in  his  tracks  hearkening  to  it, 

[271] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


for  it  sounded  from  the  druid  rath  above,  and  it  was  a 
queer  place  for  the  straying  of  a  lamb  up  there  among  the 
bare  stones  when  there  was  good  grass,  and  that  green, 
all  below  it. 

But  he  ran  across  the  old  hill  road  and  up  the  other  side 
of  it  to  where  one  hawthorn  shone  white  in  bloom  at  the 
summit. 

It  was  a  stiff  run  in  the  pelting  rain,  but  the  sounds  were 
nearer  each  step.  He  crossed  one  circle  of  the  long 
crumbled  earth  wall,  then  another,  and  plunged  in  between 
the  standing  stones  and,  breathless,  dropped  down  on  the 
stone  paving  with  the  rescued  lamb  in  his  arms. 

He  was  guided  to  it  more  by  sound  than  sight,  for  the 
shower  was  now  a  tempestuous  gray  wall  of  falling  water, 
and  with  his  treasure-trove  he  moved  back  under  the 
shelter  of  roof  formed  by  three  enormous  slabs.  Once  it 
might  have  been  an  underground  temple,  but  the  earth 
about  it  had  washed  away,  and  it  was  like  nothing  but  2 
shadowy  tunnel  of  great  stone — and  other  great  stone 
slabs  fallen  about. 

He  wiped  the  water  from  his  eyes,  peering  out  the  way 
he  had  come,  and  then  settled  the  lamb  beside  him  and 
leaned  back  to  wait  the  sunshine  or  the  lessening  of  the 
downpour. 

But  he  straightened  quickly  at  what  he  saw  in  the 
shadow  of  the  other  wall,  and  the  heart  in  him  gave  a 
great  leap,  for  he  had  met  one  of  his  dreams,  or  a  queen 
of  a  legend  come  alive  again ! 

For  a  girl  sat  there  in  a  greenish-gray  dress,  and  touches 
of  scarlet  in  the  lining  of  the  cloak  over  her  shoulders.  It 
was  the  cloak  made  the  picture  so  complete  in  the  ancient- 
ness  of  the  suggestion  —  he  could  not  know  it  was  an 
idealized  copy  of  a  Connemara  hooded  cloak. 

The  two  young  things  sat  gazing  at  each  other  as  if 

[272] 


IfcT 

•V,d>,  A  -S 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


entranced.  The  face  of  Hugh  was  white,  yet  not  with 
fear.  There  was  awe  on  him,  but  there  was  also  joy,  for, 
much  as  he  had  dreamed  of  the  queens  of  beauty  in  old 
legends,  not  one  dream  held  as  much  of  charm  as  the 
uncrowned  maid  whose  garb  was  so  near  the  color  of 
green  lichen-covered  stone  that  he  feared  she  would  fade 
back  into  the  shadows  of  it. 

Then  she  smiled  in  an  adorable  way. 

"  I  saw  you  sleeping  in  the  bracken  as  we  passed  up  the 
old  road,"  she  said.  "  You  looked  like  a  picture  of  Shelley 
I  have." 

Hugh  had  not  ever  heard  of  that  name,  but  there  surely 
were  many  names  in  the  old  legends  not  known  to  Shamas, 
who  was  his  one  great  historian. 

"  That  is  an  Irish  name,  I  think,  but  it  is  not  mine,"  said 
the  lad  politely.  "  I  am  Hugh  of  the  glen  below,  and  I  am 
thinking  it  is  yourself  would  be  Banva  or  Maeve  but  for 
the  dark  hair  of  you  — and  the  dark  brightness  of  the  eyes 
of  you." 

"  Maeve  —  Maeve?  "  she  repeated  and  regarded  him  with 
twinkling  humor.  "Is  it  Queen  Mab  you  mean  —  of  the 
fairies?" 

"It  is  — but  she  was  a  fair-haired  woman,  and  nothing 
like  you  at  all.  I  could  not  make  guess  at  the  name  on 
you,  yet  it  has  the  right  to  be  a  bright  name,  and  beauty 
in  it." 

"You  would  not  guess  it  ever,  for  it  is  no  queen  in  a 
book,"  the  girl  said  with  a  little  ripple  of  laughter.  "It 
is  common  as  the  bracken,  and  more  common  than  the 
hawthorn  in  bloom  there  by  the  stone  pillar,  for  it  is  Rose." 

"Rose!  the  dark  rose?  Dark  Rosaleen?"  And  the  voice 
of  Hugh  was  a  whisper  of  awe.  "  I  think  now  you  are 
Maeve  indeed,  witching  me  with  that  name ! " 

"  You  are  silly  from  tending  sheep  too  much,"  said  the 

[2731 


mocking  beauty.  "Why  should  a  fairy  witch  you?  And 
why  should  it  be  with  my  name?  The  dark  rose!  Am  I 
then  so  dark?  You  are  not  polite  as  I  thought  you  at  first 
—  and  I  wish  the  storm  were  over." 

Hugh  caught  his  breath  in  a  real  terror  at  thought  of 
her  anger. 

"  Ah,  it  is  tricking  me  you  are,"  he  said,  "  for  how  would 
you  not  be  knowing  that  the  dark  rose  is  the  dearest  flower 
growing  to  every  one  of  the  real  Irish?  Since  Hugh 
O'Donnell  was  making  that  song  away  there  in  Spain, 
and  since  Mangan  turned  the  verse  of  it  to  'Rosaleen/ 
that  rose  is  the  sacred  thing  in  many  a  breast.  Shamas 
Ronayne  was  telling  that  to  all  of  us  boys,  and  he  is  wiser 
than  most.  I  went  asleep  thinking  of  you,  and  singing 
the  song,  and  —  glory  be  to  the  name  !  —  was  it  that  was 
bringing  you  here  to  this  far-away  rath?" 

"Thinking  of  me  —  and  singing  the  song  ?  Hugh  of  the 
glen,  how  could  you  think  of  a  stranger  you  never  saw  or 
heard  of?  And  what  was  the  song?  I  said  you  looked 
like  Shelley,  the  poet,  and  maybe  it's  a  song  you  made 
yourself." 

The  color  flooded  his  face  at  that,  and  she  clapped  her 
hands  gleefully. 

"It  is  — it  is  — it  is  !"  she  chanted,  and  smiled  at  his 
blushes. 

"  It  is  not  then ! "  he  denied  awkwardly.  "  I  have  tried 
to  find  words  for  songs,  and  I  did  sing  them  to  the  sheep  — 
as  you  maybe  know,"  he  added  cautiously,  "  but  how  could 
a  shepherd  know  all  the  man-thoughts  of  '  Rosaleen '  ? 
No,  young,  dark  rose-lady,  it  was  only  one  man  made  that 
• —  and  the  heart  of  him  dying  in  him  with  the  sickness  for 
home.  He  had  only  thirty  years  of  life,  had  Hugh  O'Don 
nell,  and  Shamas  was  telling  us  that  the  poets  of  Ireland 
die  in  youth  for  the  reason  that  the  People  of  the  Hidden 

[274] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


•*: 


Raths  want  verses  and  music  under  the  green  hills,  and 
they  call  the  young  away  while  their  dreams  are  on  them." 
"You  are  a  very  queer  boy,"  she  said,  "and  I  won't 
believe  there  was  a  song  of  any  rose  until  I  hear  it." 
He  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"You  may  be  having  the  Gaelic?"  he  ventured,  but  she 
shook  her  dark-ringleted  head.  In  his  heart  he  thought 
she  was  but  trying  him,  and  probably  knew  all  the  tongues 
of  all  the  lands  of  the  earth. 

"  Then  I'll  be  giving  you  the  Englishing  Mangan  made 
of  it;  but  the  words  will  not  sing  themselves  to  the  Irish 
air  O'Donnell  made;  but  that  is  right  enough,  too,  when 
you  think  of  it.  Second-best  music  is  good  enough  for  the 
English  who  smashed  the  Irish  harps,  and  this  is  a  verse  of 
it.  There  are  many  verses  to  *  The  Dark  Rose. '  " 

And  with  the  lamb  snuggling  under  his  arm  and  the 
slanting  rain  making  a  gray  veil  of  all  the  outer  world, 
Hugh  threw  back  his  head,  unconscious  of  lack  of  training 
as  a  meadow  lark,  and  sang  — 

/  could  scale  the  blue  air. 

/  could  plow  the  high  hills; 
Oh/  I  could  kneel  all  night  in  prayer 

To  heal  your  many  ills  I 
And  one  beamy  smile  from  you 

Would  float  like  light  between 
My  toils  and  me,  my  own,  my  true. 

My  Dark  Rosaleen/ 

My  Own  Rosaleen  f 
Would  give  me  life  and  soul  anew, 
A  second  life,  a  soul  anew. 

My  Dark  Rosaleen! 

The  girl  leaned  forward,  watching  him,  as  startled  at  the 
unboyish  song  as  he  had  been  at  sight  of  her. 

'That  is  a  song  I  never  heard,"  she  said,  "and  it  is  a 
lovely  one  ;  but  what  does  he  mean  by  '  a  second  life '  ?  " 

[275] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

••    i    •    "          .1          i '.       i  .  "  m»a 

"  I  never  heard  anyone  asking  that,"  said  the  lad,  wrin 
kling  his  brows.  "  I  will  be  the  one  to  ask  Shamas  of  it, 
for  I  heard  him  say  there  was  no  line  of  that  song  without 
a  meaning  to  it." 

"Who  is  Shamas?" 

"  Sometimes  he  is  a  tinker,  and  he  has  made  more  than 
one  circle  of  Ireland  in  his  time.  He  was  the  one  to  be 
teaching  us  'The  Dark  Rose/  and  telling  us  of  the  poets 
of  the  ancient  old  days  when  a  poet  was  highest  man  in  a 
kingdom,  and  no  gifts  too  great  for  him  —  I'm  thinking 
that  was  even  before  Padrig  was  coming  over  with  the 
bells.  I'm  wishing  you  had  the  Gaelic.  Shamas  has  poems 
by  the  hundred,  from  the  songs  of  Dierdre,  and  Liadan 
(whose  home  was  right  here  in  Kerry  itself)  —  down  to  the 
March  of  Brian,  and  the  Coulin,  which  he  is  singing  at  me 
often  enough  —  and  him  laughing!  But  it  is  in  Gaelic  all 
the  words  of  them  are,  and  no  English  words  fit  the  music 
at  all.  I'm  thinking  you  should  have  the  Gaelic,  Dark 
Rose." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  should?  My  nurse  knew  Gaelic,  but  they 
laughed  at  her  songs  until  she  grew  silent,  and  then  they 
told  me  she  died.  I  was  little  then." 

She  sat  thinking  a  moment,  humming  softly  in  a  gentle 
croon  and  moving  her  head  to  keep  time  to  the  melody 
while  the  eyes  of  Hugh  grew  bright. 

"You  do  know  it,  you  do!"  he  said  joyously,  but  she 
shook  her  head. 

"No  —  the  words  will  not  come,  though  once  I  did 
know  that  sleepy-time  song  of  Kathleen,  but  all  I  can 
remember  is  — 

Shohtenilwlo.Olutialor 

"  But  you  have  the  memory  of  the  ancient  music,  and  it 
is  old  beyond  count!  Also  there  are  English  words  put 

[276] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

to  that  one,  and  I  hearing  a  girl  back  from  America  singing 
it  — and  this  is  the  English  of  it: 

I've  found  my  laughing  babe  a  nest 

On  Slumber  Tree. 
I'll  rock  you  there  to  rosy  rest, 

Asthore  Machrce! 
Oh  lulla  /o,  sing  all  the  leaves 

On  Slumber  Tree! 
Till  everything  that  hurts  or  grieves 

Afar  must  flee." 

The  gin  sat  looking  at  him,  and  the  tears  were  bright  in 
her  eyes. 

"  That  is  it  — that  is  the  song  of  poor  old  Kathleen.  To 
think  I  would  hear  it  in  this  cave  on  a  Kerry  hill." 

"  And  why  not?  This  is  not  a  cave,  but  a  druid's  temple 
where  they  tell  that  the  new  fire  was  given  out  to  the 
people  at  Samhain,  and  the  druids  had  the  making  of  that 
fire  on  an  altar  here  and  the  giving  of  it.  But  children  and 
mothers  and  their  suantrc  songs  were  before  that  time 
surely,  and  many  a  one  could  have  been  crooned  in  this 
place,  for  great  gatherings  were  here.  Even  the  old  people 
are  liking  to  hear  the  music  of  the  slumbersongs.  They 
say  it  brings  back  the  voices  of  mothers  —  here." 

He  touched  his  breast,  and  had  a  smile,  gentle  and  depre 
cating  lest  she  should  think  it  childish  indeed  that  old  folks 
should  care  for  lullabies,  but  she  was  gazing  at  him 
curiously. 

"  You  strange  boy ! "  she  said,  and  laid  her  slim  hand  on 
her  own  breast.  "I  never  knew  anyone  like  you;  you 
made  me  hurt  —  here  —  when  you  said  that!  You  make 
me  want  to  cry  —  yet  there  is  not  a  word  in  the  song  for 
crying!  I  think  I  have  a  hundred  cousins,  but  none  of 
them  knows  the  things  you  know ;  yet,  one  time  we  were 
Irish,  too." 

[277] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


He  smiled  at  her  mysteriously. 

"To  be  sure  you  are,  else  how  could  you  be  the  Dark 
Rose  and  come  to  this  fairy  rath  of  the  hawthorn  tree  ?  It 
is  '  fairie '  they  are  naming  in  these  days  the  great  mystic 
people  of  old  in  Ireland,  and  great  and  good  they  were  and 
are,  in  spite  of  saints,  bells,  and  banning.  (May  they  hear 
me  say  it!)  Shamas  says  Irish  blood  must  ever  waken  to 
send  back  its  answer  to  Irish  music  —  and  that  is  what  it 
was  doing  when  you  said  it  hurt  you :  it  is  my  thought  that 
it  was  only  calling  you  awake." 

"You  strange  shepherd  and  wonderful  boy,"  she  said, 
and  her  voice  was  so  full  of  sweetness  and  kinship  that 
he  leaned  forward  and  looked,  slightly  smiling,  yet  very 
earnest,  into  her  eyes. 

"Tell  me  —  Dark  Rose  —  have  you  been  wandering 
away  and  only  now  found  your  way  back?  Or  have  you 
gone  far  out  on  some  tide  of  forgetting,  or  of  slumber, 
maybe — and  the  lullaby  and  the  heart-song  of  the  Dark 
Rose  is  calling  you  awake?" 

"  Are  you  a  wizard  in  shape  of  a  boy  that  you  know  even 
my  thoughts?"  she  asked.  " For  I  was  thinking  that  song 
of  Kathleen  must  have  been  sleeping  in  my  mind  a  long 
time  —  a  very  long  time,  and  all  of  the  words  gone.  Yet 
the  music  did  wait  to  be  called  awake,  and  it  was  you 
called." 

"I  think  it  was  Maeve  and  Banva  calling,  and  both  of 
them  queens  calling  to  you!  But  you  are  awake  again  — 
and  you  are  surely  the  Dark  Rose  living  again  ! " 

"  I  wish  my  cousins  could  hear  you  call  me  that," 
she  said,  and  laughed ;  "  they  would  think  it  a  new  sort 
of  compliment.  When  they  want  to  praise,  they  say 
a  girl  is  fair  and  not  dark,  and  they  never  heard  the 
song." 

"  It  may  be  that  the  sleep  is  on  them,  too,  and  it  may  be 

[278] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

you  will  call  them  awake.     I  am  thinking  there  will  be 
many  to  answer  a  call  when  you  cry  it." 

A  rainbow  shimmered  through  the  mist,  and  a  curious 
radiance  heralded  the  breaking  of  sunrays  between  the 
clouds.  The  storm  ended  quickly  as  it  began,  and  Hugh 
rose  to  his  feet  with  the  lamb  content  on  his  arm.  The 
raindrops  still  shone  on  his  gold-brown  curls,  and  the  time 
had  been  short  in  the  strange  shelter,  yet  he  did  not  feel 
as  if  it  had  been:  all  the  generations  since  O'Donnell  made 
the  song  seemed  to  have  been  bridged  over  by  the 
bright  beauty  of  that  strange  girl  in  the  gray  shadow. 

She  also  arose,  but  did  not  emerge;  her  eyes  were  on 
him,  slender  and  at  ease  in  his  homely  garb  of  homespun, 
weather-stained  and  worn.  The  sun  touched  his  hair  into 
a  shimmer  of  radiance  and  the  white  of  the  lamb  was 
made  whiter  by  the  arrows  of  the  sun  now  far  down  the 
west.  She  could  not  but  note  a  certain  patrician  cast  to 
his  features,  and  the  slender  shapeliness  of  the  hand  hold 
ing  the  lamb,  and  she  saw  him  as  a  picture  in  whatever 
light  he  moved,  first  Shelley,  and  now — 

"Shepherd  Hugh  of  the  glen,  you  would  have  given  me 
a  fine  fright,  rushing  in  here  after  me,  had  you  been  any 
one  else  than  yourself,"  she  said,  "yet  I  know  not  a  thing 
of  you  for  all  our  talk.  I  am  sure  you  are  a  poet,  and  if 
there  were  Irish  princes  left  in  Ireland,  I  would  know  you 
were  one  of  them,  but  after  all  I  only  know  your  name  is 
Hugh,  and  that  you  have  a  friend,  Shamas,  a  tinker." 

"  And  I  am  only  knowing  that  you  are  the  Dark  Rose, 
and  that  the  fairies  brought  you  here  on  eve  of  Beltain 
that  I  might  see  you  once  and  be  content :  my  great  thanks 
and  my  love  to  them  —  may  they  hear  me  say  it ! " 

"Content?"  she  murmured  — " not  even  asking  who  I 
might  be?" 

"Not  even  asking,"  he  said,  smiling  back  to  her.     "I 

[279] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

care  not  a  rush  the  name  others  may  be  putting  on  you. 
Queen  of  fairies,  or  maid  of  the  cinders,  they  may  be  call 
ing  you,  but  the  Dark  Rose  are  you  to  me !  " 

"  There  may  be  a  day  when  I  come  again  to  Kerry,"  she 
said.  "Would  I  find  you  if  I  asked  for  Hugh  of  a  glen?" 

"  I  am  foster  brother  to  Michal  Donn,  and  his  shieling  is 
back  of  beyond  on  the  other  side  there.  I  am  of  the  Siod." 

"Siod?"  and  she  stared  at  him;  "Sidhe,  I  read  that  in 
tales  of  fairies  —  it  is  their  name!  I  do  not  need  to  be 
Irish  to  know  that.  I  thought  you  were  not  mortal ! " 

"  And  I  knew  you  could  not  be,"  he  retorted  in  her  own 
mood.  "  If  you  are  again  on  this  hill  of  Kerry,  I  will  be 
telling  you  the  tale  of  that  Siod  clan.  There  was  a  woman 
who  came  out  of  the  mists  long  ago,  as  you  have,  and  left 
thought  and  mind  on  a  mortal  clan.  It  is  told  around  the 
peat  fires  at  fall  of  night,  but  they  speak  of  other  things 
when  I  join  their  circle." 

"Was  she  also  a  flower?" 

"  No  —  she  was  born  of  the  sea,  and  the  name  put  on  her 
was  Moruadh  (sea-maid),  and  it  became,  in  time,  Maurya. 
A  prince  of  the  Children  of  the  Sea  took  her  for  wife  and 
was  banned  for  it  by  the  druids  —  and  that  was  even 
before  Padrig  was  brought  captive  slave  from  Gaul." 

"A  prince  of  the  Children  of  the  Sea?" 

"Munster  clans  of  the  west  are  called  that,  for  their 
fathers  came  over  the  sea  from  some  lost  land  —  yes,  that 
is  what  has  been  told  of  them  always." 

"I  am  coming  back  some  day,  Hugh  of  the  Fairies," 
she  said. 

A  long  signal  call  came  to  them.  His  eyes  met  hers  in 
question.  She  nodded  her  head. 

"  They  are  far  away  yet,"  she  said,  and  she  seemed  reluc 
tant  enough  at  the  sound.  "  So  you  are  of  the  sons  of  Irish 
princes,  yet  you  herd  sheep  on  the  Kerry  hills?" 

[280] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

"So  do  others  whose  genealogies  reach  to  the  genera 
tions  when  the  Son  of  Mary  was  born ;  true  that  is,  though 
many  would  be  doubting  it.  Some  souls  are  born  for  pal 
aces  and  walls  and  roofs  — others  for  the  surge  of  the  sea 
and  stout  decks —  and  others  to  feel  ever  the  springing 
grass  under  foot.  I  am  of  that  last,  and  Shamas  was  tell 
ing  my  father  never  to  house  me,  or  break  my  reed  pipe 
until  I  had  reached  height  and  made  my  own  choice ;  and 
I  have  yet  some  growing  to  do. " 

"And  what  will  you  be  then:  herder  of  sheep?" 

"I  think  I  will  just  be  playing  the  pipe  to  the  sheep  and 
singing  old  songs  until  you  are  coming  again." 

"To  the  fairies'  rath?" 

"  I  think  it  will  be  in  the  fairies'  rath." 

She  broke  a  spray  of  the  hawthorn  bloom,  and  stood 
looking  at  him. 

"It  has  been  very  wonderful,"  she  mused.  "I  will  not 
believe  any  of  it  when  I  wake  tomorrow,  but  I  will  take  a 
bit  of  the  hawthorn  for  proof.  If  —  if  I  come  back  to  these 
hills  I  will  send  you  a  message  of  hawthorn,  and  you  will 
come  again  and  tell  me  of  Ireland's  music  and  her  poets  — 
perhaps  you  will  then  have  poems  of  your  own." 

"  I  am  the  one  would  be  thankful  if  that  could  be  "  he 
said. 

Voices  were  heard  on  the  wind,  and  the  bark  of  a  dog 
The  sun  was  touching  the  very  edge  of  the  far  sea. 

Do  not  move  from  that  pillar,  and  you  will  be  out  of 
their  sight,"  she  said.  " 1  will  give  them  a  fright  to  think 
[  was  alone  in  this  waste  place.  I  will  tell  them  a  fairy 
prince  was  my  host:  they  will  never  believe  me,  but  I 
know  it  is  true." 

She  broke  the  spray  of  hawthorn  in  two  parts. 

"W hy  did  the  tinker  laugh  at  you  when  he  sang  the  song 

the  coulin  -  and  what  is  that?  Is  it  another  mystery?  " 

[281] 


"  It  is  not.  It  is  the  ancient  Irish  way  for  men  to  wear 
the  hair,  long  and  tied  back.  Under  the  old  English  laws 
men  were  punished  for  keeping  that  old  custom  or  using 
Irish  speech.  It  is  me  he  is  laughing  at,  and  telling  me  I'll 
be  sent  to  the  Castle  yet  in  punishment  for  my  long  hair." 

"It  makes  you  look  like  old  pictures,"  she  said,  "and 
surely  a  boy  can  do  that  much  as  he  pleases  in  these  days. 
This  is  your  hawthorn  to  prove  I  was  here  and  had  shelter 
with  you.  What  is  the  name  of  this  place?" 

"  It  is  Templard  —  the  high  temple  —  and  should  be  sung 
in  a  song  because  the  Dark  Rose  has  stood  under  the 
hawthorn  shade  in  this  place,"  he  said,  and  she  laughed 
silently  at  that. 

"  How  they  would  joy  to  hear  me  called  dark  anything," 
she  said. 

The  voices  were  nearer,  and  one  man's  voice  calling, 
"Rose!  Rosa!  Rosalie!" 

"  It  is  one  of  the  hundred  cousins,"  she  laughed.  "  You 
will  see,  Hugh  of  the  Siod,  that  they  call  my  name  in 
many  ways,  but  only  you  have  called  me  Rose  the  Dark. 
Fare  you  well,  shepherd  boy,  until  you  make  music  to  call 
me  back  to  Kerry." 

"  I  will  be  making  that  music,"  he  said. 

She  let  fall  the  spray  of  hawthorn  lightly  on  the  white 
lamb  in  his  arms  just  as  a  dark  hound  halted  on  the  sum 
mit  of  the  earth  wall ;  she  ran  to  meet  him,  poised  there 
like  a  green  bird  with  scarlet  wings  as  her  cloak  blew  back 
in  the  wind. 

There  were  shouts,  a  clamor  of  voices,  and  then  the  one 
voice. 

"  Rose !  You  here  safe,  and  the  peasants  searching  the 
bogs  for  you ! " 

"Whist!"  she  called  down  to  them  mockingly,  "this  is 
no  place  for  your  shouting  and  your  hounds.  I  have  been 

[282] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


spending  an  hour  with  the  fairies  in  their  rath  of  Templard, 
and  the  rest  of  you  are  not  to  put  foot  in  it.  Not  at  all 
after  the  sun  is  down,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  ball  of  celes 
tial  fire  sinking  beyond  oceans  — "the  mystic  hour  is 
past." 

Then  she  darted  down,  laughing,  and  only  the  hawthorn 
spray  was  left  to  show  she  had  not  been  a  vision,  laughing, 
mocking,  weeping,  adorable  in  young  beauty. 

Once  Hugh  caught  sight  of  her  again.  A  carriage  with 
black  horses  waited  on  the  old  road  used  by  the  peat- 
cutters  of  the  bog  beyond.  Toward  it  she  walked  with  a 
tall  man  and  the  hound  between  them.  A  half-dozen  men 
and  boys  followed  through  the  whins  and  rocky  pasture 
-they  did  not  look  back,  and  he  knew  fear  was  on  them 
for  all  her  mocking;  and  no  maid  or  man  of  the  glen  would 
choose  the  ruins  of  Templard  for  a  resting  place  at  setting 
of  sun  on  any  day. 

She  halted  once  on  a  velvet-green  knoll  and  for  a  few 
heartbeats  she  stood —  a  flash  of  crimson  against  the 
deep  purple  of  the  sky.  She  did  not  look  back,  but  with 
upflung  hand  made  a  gesture  of  hail  and  farewell,  and 
Hugh  smiled  at  that,  and  waved  in  return  though  he  knew 
she  would  not  see. 


was  late  twilight  when  he  brought  down  the  sheep 
to  the  fold,  and  Molly  Donn,  his  foster  sister,  put 
before  him  a  brown  loaf  baked  in  the  hearth  oven, 
the  pitcher  of  new  milk,  and  boiled  potatoes,  while  a  white- 
haired  little  old  man  puffed  at  his  pipe  and  looked  him 
over. 

[283] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

r.;  j     IT.'    11         i  i.  .'.i.".~  "i...jin.f  ,i'in'    ..iJ...«ni   .i7iii    4  I.    ~ 

"  You  ranged  the  ewes  over  far  when  you  took  them  to 
the  rath  of  Templard,"  he  remarked,  and  Molly  rested  the 
needles  in  her  knitting  to  stare  at  him. 

"Shamas  man,  have  you  indeed  'the  sight*  that  you 
look  over  all  the  pasture  range  —  and  you  not  beyond  the 
boolie  this  day?"  she  asked,  and  the  old  man  with  the 
grave  mouth,  and  merry  blue  eyes,  puffed  his  pipe  and 
chuckled. 

"Have  thought  with  you,  Molly  girl,"  he  suggested. 
"  What  need  of  the  second  sight,  when  he  sports  a  twig  of 
hawthorn  flower  from  the  fairy  rath  on  that  hill?  That 
hawthorn  is  ever  the  first  to  be  blooming." 

"You  have  sharper  eyes  than  the  youth  about  you. 
Father  Shamas,"  said  Hugh,  and  laughed  at  the  fear  in 
the  eyes  of  Molly.  "I  was  in  truth  on  that  hill,  and  fell 
asleep  and  dreaming  in  the  bracken  until  the  rain  fell  — 
that  was  when  the  sheep  strayed  a  bit,  but  all  are  safe 
home  again." 

Molly  made  the  sign  to  ward  off  evil,  and  looked  her 
horror  at  him. 

"Asleep  in  the  bracken  of  Templard  and  this  on  the 
eve  of  Beltain!"  she  whispered.  "Saint  Bride  to  your 
saving!  Fear  would  be  on  me  over  the  dreams  of 
Templard." 

"Save  your  fears,  Molly  asthore.  The  dream  was  a 
beautiful  dream,  and  I  am  the  richer." 

Old  Shamas  regarded  the  glowing  eyes  of  the  lad.  "  The 
dreams  of  the  young  are  seed  for  the  harvest  of  old  age," 
he  said.  "  It  is  good  to  dream  in  beauty,  else  the  old  days 
will  be  gray  days." 

"It's  only  guessing  at  that  you  are,  Shamas,"  retorted 
Hugh,  "  for  there  is  no  age  on  you  —  nor  will  ever  be." 

The  old  man  and  the  lad  looked  in  each  other's  eyes  with 
the  smiling  content  of  comradeship,  but  Molly,  turning  the 

[284] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

heel  of  the  hose,  did  not  see  the  look,  and  was  slow  in 
imagination  for  a  Kerry  coast  woman. 

"  It's  glib  you  are  growing  with  the  tongue,  Hugh,  lad," 
she  admonished  him.  "  I  was  never  daring  to  cross  my  elders, 
nor  was  Michal  at  your  age.  When  your  father  is  coming 
back,  or  sending  for  you  for  the  schooling,  he  will  be  put 
ting  blame  on  us  for  the  bold  words  of  you  —  and  God 
and  Mary  know  it  is  no  fault  of  mine ! " 

"True  for  you,"  laughed  Hugh,  "it  is  not  — Shamas  is 
the  one  to  blame." 

Michal  came  in  at  that,  shaking  the  water  from  his  coat- 
amore,  for  the  rain  was  again  falling. 

"  Lucky  it  is  it  held  off  so  long,"  he  said,  "  for  the  hunt 
was  up  for  a  bit  of  a  girl  straying  on  the  mountain,  and 
lost  from  the  old  castle." 

"What  is  witching  you?"  demanded  Molly.  "You 
know  well  the  castle  of  Argial  is  a  forsaken  place." 

"It  has  been,  but  the  new  heir,  Hector  Laud,  must  be 
giving  it  an  overlooking,  and  brought  along  friends  for 
gay  doings." 

"  Fine  it  would  be  to  have  a  new  and  young  lord  of 
Argial  again  —  that  has  never  been  known  in  our  time," 
mused  Molly. 

"  This  one  is  new  but  not  young ;  Denis  and  Tim  Doherty 
saw  him.  He  is  a  pale,  masterful  kind  of  man,  and  proud 
at  that.  They  say  it  will  be  a  great  wonder  if  he  gets  the 
girl  he  is  wanting  as  mistress  of  Argial,  for  she  has 
lightning  in  her  blood,  and  the  devil's  share  of  courage. 
Well,  Time  tells  the  story!  That  girl  it  was  started 
the  hunt,  and  Tim  was  after  getting  two  shillings  for 
taking  his  gray  pony  and  going  the  bog  boreen  in  the 
search.  No,  he  was  not  the  one  to  find  her.  She  was 
found,  and  he  earned  the  two  shillings  in  ease  and 
comfort." 

[285] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

1   . 

"Who  was  the  lost  one?"  asked  Shamas,  for  Hugh 
made  no  question. 

"  It  was  the  daughter  of  a  Maurice,  and  she  English,  and 
knowing  not  a  path  of  all  Kerry." 

"Maurice  is  not  a  name  of  England,"  mused  Shamas, 
"not  at  all  of  England." 

"Well  —  God  knows!  That  is  their  saying,  and  she  has 
only  her  beauty  for  wealth  and  her  uncle  keen  on  the 
match  when  the  time  comes.  She's  only  a  bit  of  a  slip 
yet,  and  time  in  plenty  ahead!  Denis  was  fair  enchanted 
by  a  glimpse  of  her  behind  the  black  horses  of  Argial,  and 
them  galloping  to  put  fear  on  a  soul !  His  saying  was  that 
the  cuckoo  would  sing  in  falling  snow  for  that  daughter 
of  Maurice,  whoever  she  may  be.'* 

Molly  on  the  creepie  by  the  hearthstone  clicked  her  knit 
ting  needles,  and  glanced  her  impatience  at  Michal,  busy 
with  his  supper. 

"That  would  be  the  man  of  it,"  she  said  in  disdain  of 
masculine  weaknesses.  "  Every  man-jack  of  them  agog 
over  a  bright  eye,  and  never  a  knowledgeable  word  from 
you  of  where  the  child  was  lost,  and  who  had  the  finding 
of  her." 

"Ah,  blather  of  you,  Molly!  That's  the  woman  of  it  — 
wanting  to  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  all  things  going.  Give 
me  another  mug  of  milk,  girl!  No  one  was  finding  the 
stray  at  all.  She  walked  out  from  Templard  when  she 
got  ready,  and  no  fear  on  her  and  hot  a  hair  of  her  head 
wet!  She  had  mocking  and  laughter  for  Laud  of  Argial 
and  told  of  a  King  of  the  Fairies  who  made  music  for 
her  in  the  ruins,  but  Argial  had  blackness  of  thunder 
in  his  looks  and  drove  like  the  devil  down  from  the 
mountain." 

"  Glory  be  to  God  ! "  breathed  Molly,  crossing  herself. 
"  A  slip  of  a  girl  like  that  to  venture  in  Templard  this  day ! 

[286] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


Hugh,  lad,  when  the  sheep  were  straying  over  there  beyond 
did  you  get  sight  of  her?" 

But  Hugh  was  sprawled  on  the  hearth  with  a  bit  of 
paper  and  pencil.  He  was  tousling  his  curls  for  straying 
thoughts,  and  making  scribbles  there  by  the  glow  of  the 
peat  fire.  Molly  repeated  her  question  before  he  gave 
heed  to  it. 

"  I  saw  no  daughter  of  a  Maurice  there,  and  no  bride  of 
Argial,"  he  said  stolidly.  "  What  I  saw  on  Templard 
was  a  different  thing.  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  fell  asleep 
in  the  bracken  and  had  a  dream?  Whist,  Molly  dear,  and 
let  be,  for  I  heard  music  there  and  am  making  a  song 
of  it." 

"Oh,  Shamas  man,"  begged  Molly.  "Say  something 
for  me  to  put  the  fear  of  God  on  that  lad!  You  know 
well  it  is  ill  luck  to  sleep  on  a  fairies'  rath,  and  ill  luck 
to  make  songs  to  their  harping,  and  worst  luck  of  all  for  a 
maid  or  man  to  follow  fairy  king,  or  fairy  mistress,  to  a 
rath  on  a  Midsummer  Eve,  or  on  this  eve  of  Beltain.  Tell 
it  to  him,  Shamas,  for  —  Bride  and  Mary  to  our  helping! 
—  it  is  only  to  you  he  will  hearken." 


HND  in  the  old  Kerry  castle  of  Argial,  a  dark  old  man, 
in  an  invalid's  chair,  frowned  at  the  girl  called  by 
Hugh  the  Dark  Rose,  and  all  the  laughter  and  joy 
were  gone  from  her  face. 

"  I  will  not  have  you  mock  your  host  and  my  friend ! "  he 
said,  and  his  clenched  hand  fell  on  the  tea-table  and  set 
the  china  and  silver  a-tinkle.  "I  will  not  have  it  from 
you!  Gerald  and  you  have  bread  and  comfort  under  his 

[287] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

roof  —  and  that  is  more  than  I  can  give  you;  and  bread 
alone  is  more  than  I  may  have  at  the  last  —  with  stocks 
going  smash,  and  no  hope  of  retrieving  losses,  I  will  not 
have  this  rebellion  and  mockery  of  yours ! " 

The  girl  looked  from  his  angry  eyes  to  the  brandy  and 
soda  on  the  tea-table. 

"  I  meant  to  ask  you  about  that,  about  the  little  inherit 
ance  of  Jerry's  and  mine  —  if  —  it  is  gone  —  ?  " 

"Of  course  it's  gone  — gone  long  ago  — with  my  own! 
I  tell  you  there  is  only  one  way  of  school  and  comfort  for 
both  of  you." 

"  But,  uncle,"  the  girl  went  over  and  stood  back  of  his 
chair  as  if  speech  were  less  hard  if  his  eyes  were  not  on 
her  ;  "  Jerry  and  I  have  endless  numbers  of  cousins  some 
where  here  in  Ireland  —  " 

"  All  poorer  than  church  mice ;  and  the  ones  with  means 
have  all  gone  to  America  or  the  continent.  Sensible 
enough  they  are,  too ! " 

"  Yet  there  might  be  some  left  who  would  let  us  make 
a  home  with  them  —  even  a  home  on  a  farm  would  not  be 
bad.  We  are  not  quite  paupers;  surely,  we  have  a  little 
left,  and  I  would  work  — do  anything  —  " 

His  laugh  with  a  deal  of  scorn  in  it,  halted  her. 

"  Do  anything  !  Then  do  the  only  sensible  thing  there 
is  to  do.  Settle  your  mind  to  be  civil  and  be  mistress  of 
Argial  when  the  time  comes.  Hector  is  enough  of  a  con 
nection  of  the  family  to  accept  favors  from.  Gerald  will 
be  provided  for ;  he  will  get  his  bit  to  secure  a  commission, 
and  he  would  think  you  a  fool  to  talk  of  work  — and  per 
haps  a  clerk's  grind  for  him!  Why,  it  is  a  dower  for  a 
princess  Hector  Laud  is  offering  for  you  — and  you  talk  of 
a  group  of  unknown  Irish  cousins,  poverty-stricken  as 
yourself!  It  is  too  absurd  for  words.  Don't  let  me  hear 
any  more  of  it." 

[  288  1 


S    THE  DARK  ROSE'  0O 

~**<r       ••• 


There  was  silence  for  so  long  a  time  that  the  man  in 
the  chair  grew  restless  and  turned  half  around;  his  voice 
was  more  conciliating. 

"  Be  a  good  girl  now !  You  must  know  you  are  the  only 
hope  left.  Hector  adores  you,  and  your  mockery  is  serious 
to  him.  You  are  too  young  to  know  what  is  best.  Why 
start  a  fool's  hunt  for  Irish  cousins  you  never  saw  when 
an  English  cousin  offers  you  the  key  to  his  treasure 
chests  ?" 

"I  care  little  enough  for  the  treasure  chests  —  though 
I  do  love  the  Kerry  hills,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Well,  that's  something!  You  can  have  all  of  them  you 
want  when  married,  but  not  a  foot  shall  you  go  alone  on 
them  again  while  we  are  in  the  castle.  And  that  will  only 
be  until  tomorrow.  You  will  go  back  to  school  until  com 
mon  sense  has  ended  your  flighty  rebellion.  It  is  a  choice 
between  starvation  and  the  income  of  a  girl-queen.  Pov 
erty  is  an  enemy  to  fight  against  —  it  will  conquer  you  in 
the  end!" 

"  It  may  overpower  me  when  I  think  of  Jerry  and  his 
future,"  she  said  quietly,  "but  to  be  overpowered  does  not 
mean  to  be  conquered." 


an  early  April  a  woman  rode  down  the  boreen  of 
the  glen  from  Templard,  and  her  eyes  rested  often 
on  the  simple  growths  — from  cress  of  the  brook  to 
the  buds  on  the  prickly  thorn.  She  reached  out  and  touched 
the  green  ivy  in  the  dusky  wood,  and  pinned  a  bit  of  it  on 
her  coat  of  darker  green. 

Molly  Donn,  catching  glimpse  of  her  through  the  open 

[289] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

door,  flew  hurriedly  to  combing  her  hair  with  one  hand, 
and  pushing  Shamas  toward  the  door  with  the  other. 

"Go  on  now  —  it  is  herself!  Have  manners  and  give 
her  greeting  whilst  I  make  myself  tidy.  God  save  her! 
No  word  of  anyone  has  overpraised  her  ! " 

Shamas,  a  little  older,  a  little  whiter,  did  as  bidden,  and 
looked  his  wonder  when  the  rider  spoke. 

"You  are  Shamas?  Are  you  not?"  she  asked,  and  her 
dark  eyes  had  searching  kindness. 

"  It  is  Shamas,  indeed,  I  am  called,  my  lady,"  he  made 
answer,  "  though  there  is  many  another  of  the  same  name 
on  the  Kerry  coast,  and  I've  no  monopoly." 

"  There  can  be  only  one  here  at  the  foot  of  Templard," 
she  said,  "  one  with  — 

The  ever  young  blue  eyes, 
Beneath  the  thatch  of  snow." 

"  Ah  then,  you've  been  seeing  the  lad's  bits  of  verse,  and 
songs  of  the  Kerry  hills,"  he  said;  and  the  old  face  was 
illumined.  "Sure  enough  he  did  not  forget  his  old 
friends  —  not  even  a  pet  cow  or  a  sheep!  Why,  I  find 
myself  giving  looks  to  the  bog-berries  and  the  bracken 
under  foot  as  never  before  —  and  all  because  he  bore  them 
in  his  mind  and  put  them  in  his  songs  across  the  sea 
beyond." 

"Yes  —  I've  been  seeing  the  songs  —  and  hearing  them. 
My  brother  is  home  from  the  front  and  tells  me  they  are 
sung  in  the  trenches  by  the  soldiers.  He  is  not  well 
enough  to  ride,  so  I  have  come  alone.  I  thought  you 
would  perhaps  tell  me  a  little  about  the  boy  who  wrote 
the  '  Legends  of  Desmond/  " 

Molly  appeared  at  that  moment,  eager  and  voluble 
with  offered  hospitality. 

"Who  could  tell  you  if  not  Shamas  Ronayne?"  she 

£290] 


asked.  "  Didn't  he  teach  the  lad  them  old  tales  and  songs 
of  old  battles?  — Indeed,  he  did  then,  and  it's  proud  we  are 
of  Hugh,  and  joyful  that  his  heart  has  remembrance  for 
the  glen  folk.  It's  proud,  too,  we  are  that  the  lady  of 
Castle  Argial  has  his  name  among  the  many  who  would 
crave  remembrance  of  her  — and  will  you  please  to  come 
within,  for  a  rest  on  the  way?" 

The  lady  of  Argial  dismounted,  and  looked  with  interest 
at  the  low  room,  stone-floored,  and  the  walls  brown  with 
peat  smoke.  The  simple  furnishings  were  clean,  but  the 
bareness  of  it  all  seemed  to  appall  the  visitor. 

"And  this  was  the  cradle!"  she  said  at  last,  and  looked 
at  Shamas,  as  to  one  who  would  understand.  "  Tell  me  of 
him." 

"  It  is  not  much  to  tell, "  said  the  old  man.  "  He  was  ail 
ing  as  a  young  lad,  and  was  left  behind  when  his  father 
sailed  for  the  western  world.  The  grass  under  his  feet  here 
was  the  right  cure  for  him.  Ere  the  day  came  when  his 

ther  struck  the  rich  luck  of  mines  and  such  wealth  as  is 
to  be  had  for  the  looking  over  there,  the  lad  Hugh  had  a 
mind  full  of  tales  of  old  Munster  —  and  more  than  the  tales 
for  he  had  the  feel  of  the  land  and  could  sing  it —  yes  he 
could  do  that  !  When  tutors  and  the  learning  of  books 
were  coming  his  way,  he  made  that  learning  serve  for  tell- 
ing  the  old  tales  in  a  new  manner  and  saving  the  old  songs 
in  print,  so  cheaply  that  even  the  husband  of  a  one-donkey 
farm  could  afford  the  price  of  it.  Many  wise  men  were 
making  record  of  old  Irish  for  the  scholars  and  the  learned 
-that  is  what  he  is  saying,  but  the  thing  he  was  wishful 
tor  ever  was  to  make  it  easy  for  the  lad  of  the  cow-path  — 
and  the  digger  of  peat  — and  the  herring  fishers  along  the 
shore.  Yes,  that  was  the  wish  of  him  " 

"He  has  his  wish,"  she  said.     "Hugh  Siod  is  a  name 
well  loved  by  many." 

[291] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

"  Aye,  and  hated  as  well,'*  murmured  Shamas.  "  You're 
not  the  first  to  ride  this  path  asking  of  him;  the  sergeant 
of  constabulary  has  gathered  in  more  than  one  copy,  and 
others  are  hid  as  the  history  of  Keating  was  hid  for  gen 
erations  among  the  Irish.  My  own  is  under  the  hearth." 

"Whist  man,"  muttered  Molly,  who  was  setting  the 
black  kettle  on  the  hob  for  making  of  tea,  "why  bury  a 
crock  of  coin  only  to  lift  the  cover  off  for  the  passer-by?" 

But  Shamas  smiled  at  the  visitor,  and  lifted  the  stone- 
flagging  where  a  flat  package  reposed  in  the  excavation 
beneath. 

"  Let  be,  Molly,"  he  said  tolerantly,  "the  lady  of  Argial 
has  blood  in  her  of  the  nobles  who  had  banishment  —  'to 
hell  or  Connaught'  put  upon  them  by  the  invader.  The 
daughter  of  Maurice  could  not  be  an  informer  against  her 
own." 

"  She  could  not,"  said  the  lady  of  Argial.  "  My  grand 
father  was  killed  for  Ireland  —  and  my  father  went  into 
exile  to  escape  the  same  enemies.  I  am  only  learning 
these  things  now,  for  it  was  long  kept  hidden  from  us." 

"Aye!  That  is  often  the  way  of  it,"  agreed  Shamas. 
"  The  young  in  free  lands  could  not  have  understanding  of 
it,  and  what  use  to  put  shadow  on  them?  Look  at  this 
now  "  —  and  he  opened  the  package  and  turned  the  leaves 
of  the  little  volume  to  a  tale,  The  Wife  of  Desmond.  "  There 
now  is  a  lament,  second  to  none  ever  written :  not  Dierdre 
for  her  lover  — not  Nuala  in  her  exile,  ever  had  the  heart 
wail  for  hearts'  losses  equaled  by  the  Irish  bride  of  Des 
mond  at  the  slaughter  of  her  infant  sons  and  their  father, 
who  had  dared  Saxon  laws  to  marry  in  honor  an  Irish 
maid!" 

"  That  was  a  true  tale,  and  a  terrible,"  agreed  Molly,  who 
was  at  the  open  door  watching  the  path,  "but  fear  goes 
with  it,  and  what  profit  in  the  printed  words  of  such, 

[2921 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


when  troubles  might  come  to  all  of  us  for  the  very  sight 
of  it  here?" 

"It  teaches  the  young  from  songs  what  they  never 
would  glimpse  from  the  books  of  historians,"  said  their 
visitor.  "  I  had  taunts  given  me  in  schools  that  my  people 
were  of  jails,  and  exiles.  I  carried  the  shadow  of  that  in 
silence  all  my  youth.  This  book  told  me  they  were  not 
criminals  —  they  were  patriots  —  and  my  pride  in  them 
now  is  beyond  word.  Think  of  that!  —  I  —  who  scarcely 
dared  speak  the  name  of  them  all  my  life ! " 

"And  you  a  grand  lady,  too!"  breathed  Molly  in  amaze. 
"And  it  is  noble  I  am  sure  your  forbears  were,  and  not 
to  be  spoke  of  by  the  likes  of  me  who  has  no  reading  of 
books  to  my  knowledge.  But  indeed  now  there  have  been 
no  bad  killings  this  while  back,  and  it  is  a  good  herring  year, 
and  the  new  litter  of  pigs  gives  us  promise  of  comfort  for 
the  winter,  to  say  nothing  of  the  nest-egg  Hugh  himself 
has  been  sending  me!  No,  my  lady,  it  is  myself  is  glad 
enough  to  hear  speech  of  these  things,  for  Shamas  here, 
and  Michal,  who  is  gone  to  the  harbor,  give  me  no  light 
on  it  at  all ;  but  when  a  good  year  is  with  us  why  put  in 
time  with  reading  of  the  old-time  slaughterings?" 

"To  justify  our  fathers  who  sacrificed  themselves  for 
freedom.  It  is  a  wonderful  word  —  freedom!  The  pity 
is  that  few  value  it  until  after  it  has  been  lost." 

There  was  weariness  in  the  sweet,  deep  voice,  and  a 
moment  of  shadow  in  the  dark  eyes,  and  the  old  man 
nodded  his  head  slowly. 

"It  came  your  way  early,"  he  said,  "but  it  has  been 
bringing  understanding  with  it." 

"No,"  she  said  lowly,  "this  little  book  brought  the 
understanding.  I  owe  much  to  it;  I  drifted  in  discontent 
from  port  to  port  until  it  found  me !  I  bought  a  hundred 
copies  for  my  brother  who  is  afire  with  hope  these  days. 

[293] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

Surely,  our  Irish  regiments,  fighting  abroad,  must  win  us 
justice  at  last  here  at  home!" 

"  A  blessing  on  the  day ! "  said  Shamas.  "  It  is  a  proud 
time  for  us,  Lady  Argial,  that  your  heart  is  with  the  cot 
tagers  here  in  Kerry.  There's  many  an  Irish  estate  give 
over  to  cattle  and  keepers  and  mayhaps  some  gentle 
man  for  the  fall  hunting,  and  no  spirit  of  life  in  it  at  all, 
and  it  kills  the  land,  that  does.  It  kills  the  spirit  of  a 
land  —  or  —  drives  it  too  far  afield  to  find  the  way  back 
again!" 

"  Wouldn't  himself  be  proud  to  see  you  here  now,  drink 
ing  tea  from  his  own  cup,  and  with  the  book  of  his  writ 
ing  to  your  hand  ? "  said  Molly,  beaming  hospitality  — 
and  settling  herself  on  the  doorstep  with  her  own  cup  of 
tea  after  presenting  her  visitor  with  a  gilded  guest  cup. 
"  Now  wouldn't  it  be  a  proud  day  the  day  he  would  sec 
you  so?" 

"  I  did  see  him  once ;  it  seems  very  long  ago.  He  was 
a  slender  young  lad  with  a  wonderful  smile  and  odd  say 
ings.  He  sang  a  song  on  the  mountain  —  a  song  of  Ire 
land  —  it  had  charm  and  mysteries  in  it.  That  was  years 
ago." 

"  And  the  song  was  Kathleen  na  Hulihan?"  ventured  Sha 
mas.  "He  ever  was  singing  or  whistling  one  of  them, 
and  there  have  been  many." 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Argial,  with  the  book  open  at  A  Legend 
of  the  Dark  Rose  —  "no  —  it  was  a  different  song.  But  my 
brother  has  a  new  song  of  Kathleen  and  he  says  the  boys 
are  singing  it  in  camp.  He  found  it  in  an  American  paper, 
but  the  poet's  name  I  could  not  learn.  I  think  the  writer 
of  this  book  would  love  it,  though  it  is  the  sad  song  of  an 
old  man." 

"I  am  wondering  if  you  would  let  us  have  it?"  asked 
Shamas.  "Not  so  many  new  songs  come  up  the  glen  — 

[294] 


THE  DARK  ROSE    -^^ 

it  would  be  a  favor  of  grace,  if  it  would  not  be  asking  too 
much?" 

"How  could  you  ask  too  much?  You  who  taught  a 
bird  its  song  here  in  the  Kerry  hills,"  she  said,  and  the 
flush  of  pleasure  mounted  to  the  white  thatch  of  his  hair. 
She  finished  the  tea  and  sat  looking  over  the  far  green. 

"  I  do  not  sing,  but  I  can  repeat  three  of  the  verses  : 

O  Kathleen  na  Hulihan, 

It's  old  I  am  and  gray. 
The  autumn  leaves  they  drift  around 

The  ending  of  my  day. 
The  red  leaves  —  the  dead  leaves  — — 

They  drift  about  my  way, 
Kathleen  na  Hulihan,  today! 

0  Kathleen  na  Hulihan, 

I  wandered  far  from  you. 

1  took  a  woman  to  my  wife 

And  kind  she  was  and  true, 
But  your  gray  eyes  looked  out  on  me 

Within  her  eyes  of  blue; 
And,  Kathleen  na  Hulihan, 

My  soul  went  after  you! 

O  Kathleen  na  Hulihan, 

Your  face  is  like  a  star! 
Your  face  has  led  me  to  your  feet. 

Through  wastes  and  waters  far! 
Your  face  has  made  a  day  for  me 

Where  only  twilights  are! 
O  Kathleen  na  Hulihan,  my  star!" 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  when  she  ended  and  Sha- 
mas  looked  at  her  with  a  glint  of  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"My  star!"  he  said,  nodding  gently,  "a  star  indeed  — 
and  a  poet  of  another  land  knowing  it  and  singing  it !  This 
is  a  day  to  live  for  —  a  day  of  great  comfort,  and  you  bring- 

[295] 


THE  PARK  ROSE 

•  •      •  — 

ing  it  to  me!  Now,  Molly,  woman,  you'll  have  no  more 
moments  of  fear  for  Hugh,  and  the  tales  he  has  retold, 
when  that  telling  has  brought  the  lady  of  Argial  here  to  a 
shepherd's  cot,  and  her  bringing  a  new  Kathleen  to  us  — 
a  star  indeed  —  a  star  indeed!" 

"  It  is  myself  is  proud  as  any  of  Hugh,"  said  the  cautious 
Molly.  "  But  the  boys  are  wild  over  him,  and  many  a  poet 
of  Ireland  has  died  in  exile  for  less  than  he  has  dared  say 
—  and  you  know  that  well,  Shamas,  and  this  is  a  time  of 
fear  at  the  best,  and  you  are  knowing  that,  too ! " 

Lady  Argial  was  reading  the  kindly,  yet  careful,  inscrip 
tion  in  the  book  from  under  the  hearth. 

"And  this  is  his  own  writing  to  you — others  will  envy 
you  his  love  written  there.  Tell  me  if  there  is  anything 
in  which  he  needs  help. " 

"Nothing  we  can  know — not  wealth  surely,  for  the 
father  has  left  him  enough  and  to  spare.  Every  penny 
the  book  brings  goes  to  a  fund  for  Ireland  —  and  more 
besides!" 

"I  did  not  know  that  —  there  was  no  one  to  tell  me," 
she  said,  rising.  "  It  was  a  fancy  I  had  that  he  was  maybe 
poor  and  alone.  But  perhaps  he  is  not  alone  either?  " 

"  He  is  alone  except  for  Dark  Rosaleen,  or  Kathleen  na 
Hulihan,"  said  Shamas,  "  and  I  think  he  will  be  having  no 
other  sweetheart." 

Their  visitor  stood  in  the  doorway  and  looked  back  into 
the  dusky  room  of  the  one  window,  and  then  to  the  almost 
frail  little  old  man  whose  spirit  was  not  at  all  frail. 

She  clasped  hands  with  him,  and  with  Molly  Bonn, 
and  mounted  the  black  horse  from  the  stone  wall  at  the 
stile. 

"I  do  not  mean  that  Argial  shall  be  merely  a  hunting 
lodge  ever  again,"  she  said.  "  Come  to  me  as  a  friend  if 
ever  there  is  favor  or  justice  you  have  to  ask." 

[296] 


THE  DARK  ROJTE 

On  the  hill  above  she  halted  to  look  back  and  wave  her 
hand. 

"  Like  a  queen  on  a  throne  she  looks  there ! "  said  Molly 
all  a-flutter,  "and  like  a  queen,  too,  she  sat,  simple  as  the 
likes  of  us  —  on  a  seat  here  under  our  own  eaves!  Shamas, 
dear,  did  you  ever  hope  to  see  the  day?" 

But  Shamas  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  were  on  the  dark 
horse  and  its  rider  outlined  against  the  shining  glory  of 
gold-and-primrose  clouds  behind  which  the  sun  was  passing 
in  partial  eclipse. 

She  looked  like  a  statue  there,  for  horse  and  rider  were 
flat,  dark  outlines  against  the  sky  —  themselves  in  passing 
shadow  and  the  radiance  beyond. 

But  it  was  not  the  picture  by  which  the  old  man  was 

Id —  it  was  a  sudden  forward  movement  of  hers  as  if 
peering  down  the  sea  road  at  something  not  discernible 
by  the  two  watchers  of  the  cottage.  The  horse  moved 
and  half  turned,  restless  and  eager  to  be  gone,  but  she 
halted  him  there  —  waiting. 

Then  the  cart  of  Michal  came  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  and  a  tall  man  beside  Michal  lifted  his  cap  in  recog 
nition,  and  the  woman,  leaning  forward,  waved  her 
hand. 

"Glory  be!"  muttered  Molly.  "And  who  would  be  the 
stranger  there  with  Michal?" 

But  old  Shamas  knew! 

'  It's  himself,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  trembled.  "  I  can 
go  the  Way  in  content  now  that  my  eyes  are  on  him  again 
—  it's  himself  come  back  to  us  !" 

The  stranger  leaped  from  the  cart  and  strode  over  the 

pland  green  where  the  woman  waited.    His  cap  was  in 

his  hand,  and  the  shock  of  bronze-gold  curls  were  gone  ; 

one  lock  over  his  forehead  was  the  only  reminder  of  the 

golden  crown  she  had  remembered. 

[297] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

~^1  .-1*1" - '  """'  *       '      "  L — ' l  ^  •  •    L'  •        •—  :'""     " "  "l-"r- -'  l"'f'-JiTVT"-V"l  r    -1"-    ~  I  K*." 

"O  Fairy  Prince  of  a  holiday!"  she  said,  and  smiled 
in  quick  appraisement 

"O  Dark  Rose  of  a  dream!"  he  answered,  and  bowed 
before  her.  "This  is  a  more  wonderful  coming  back  than 
I  could  have  hoped  —  it  has  taken  ten  years  to  earn  it!" 

He  apparently  did  not  note  her  half-extended  hand,  but 
stood  as  a  courtier  might  before  a  queen,  yet  with  a  sort 
of  gay  comradeship  in  his  smile,  and  the  caress  in  his  voice. 
The  horse  reached  forward  with  pointed  ears  of  inquiry, 
and  then  snuggled  its  nose  against  his  shoulder.  He 
lifted  his  hand  and  stroked  the  black  satiny  skin. 

"  It  is  a  fine  welcome  to  Kerry  he  is  giving  me, "  he  said, 
with  laughing  touch  of  brogue.  "Ah!  It's  great  just  to 
be  breathing  the  air  again!" 

"  A  welcome  to  Kerry  is  what  we  all  give  you,  Hugh 
Siod,"  she  said.  "You  forgot  to  pipe  to  the  herds  here 
until  I  came  again,  but  you  kept  well  your  boy-promise 
to  make  songs  for  Ireland ! " 

"For  the  Dark  Rose,"  he  corrected  her,  and  smiled. 
"  I  think  I  promised  to  make  them  on  the  fairies'  rath,  but 
we  human  things  drift  in  strange  currents  sometimes,  and 
my  songs  were  made  in  another  place." 

"  They  go  to  my  heart,"  she  said,  "  and  not  mine  alone. 
My  brother  idolizes  you ;  I  must  tell  you  of  Jerry  and  his 
comrades.  Your  songs  have  been  an  inspiration." 

He  stood  while  she  told  him  of  the  wounded  brother, 
and  the  hopes  for  Ireland  founded  on  the  Irish  troops, 
drilled  to  fight,  if  need  be,  their  ancient  enemy  for  equal 
rights,  yet  putting  aside,  temporarily,  their  own  great 
cause,  and  marching  to  battle  beside  that  enemy  when 
devastation  threatened  a  larger  world. 

The  glint  of  laughter  went  out  of  his  eyes  as  they  talked 
there  —  and  they  talked  long. 

She  grew  pale  and  still  as  he  told  her  of  things  beyond 

[298] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

i—  i.  ....        .    .1-8  ....   ..,'"',,      ,  ' .  ;=; 

the  seas,  of  foreign  alliance  by  which  all  Ireland  could  be 
made  a  battlefield,  of  the  political  groups  who  stayed  at 
home  to  undo  the  work  of  the  Irish  regiments  in  which 
her  pride  was  so  great. 

"For  that  I  have  come  —  and  come  in  secret,"  he  con 
fessed.  "  Because  of  what  I  have  written  in  my  passion  for 
Irish  freedom,  strange  things  have  been  told  to  me.  All 
my  heart  is  with  them  —  but  this  is  not  the  time  !  I  have 
crossed  the  ocean  to  tell  them  that,  and  to  bring  word 
from  men  more  important  than  I.  I  go  to  Cork  and  then 
to  Dublin  to  do  what  I  may." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  have  been  helping  recruit  in  Canada,  but  others  can 
carry  on  that  work  now.  If  I  escape  alive  from  my  Irish 
friends  when  I  tell  them  the  truths  I  bring  —  well  —  if 
there  is  room  for  me  in  an  Irish  regiment,  that  is  where  I 
will  be.  There  is  yet  work  to  do." 

Her  hand  crept  up  to  her  throat  as  she  listened  to  him. 

"  Once  you  made  me  weep  when  you  crooned  a  lullaby," 
she  said,  "  and  now,  for  all  my  gladness  and  pride  in  your 
work,  you  are  giving  me  a  great  fear!  You  make  me 
understand  things  that  were  dark.  I  fear — I  fear  my 
brother  may  know  of  that  group  you  came  to  reason  with, 
I  fear  it  greatly  !  And  —  you  maybe  know  the  position 
and  inclinations  of  Lord  Argial  —  " 

"  I  know,"  he  said  quietly,  "  yours  will  not  be  the  only 
family  divided  in  Ireland  —  there  will  be  tragedies  as  dark 
as  any  I  have  sung,  and  the  day  is  past  when  they  can  be 
hidden  as  of  old." 

"You  know  the  censor  has  suppressed  your  Legends  of 
Desmond  ?" 

"  I  ought  to,"  and  his  smile  twinkled  out  again.  "  But 
sailors  sing  the  songs  of  them  aboard  ship,  and  teach  them 
to  sweethearts  ashore,  and  I  heard  a  shepherd  whistling 

[299] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

'         * '  "" 

one  of  them  as  we  crossed  over  the  plain  below  —  so  — 
one  way  and  another  they  will  bear  their  message,  if  it  is 
worth  the  bearing!" 

"  It  is  —  it  is ! "  she  said  earnestly.  "  You  have  wakened 
many  of  us  to  greater  pride  in  our  heritage.  I  am  only 
one  of  them.  Did  you  know  —  have  you  ever  chanced  on 
the  trace  of  a  link  between  your  family  and  our  own?  My 
brother  found  it  in  some  old  record  of  genealogy  of  Mun- 
ster.  I  —  he  takes  great  pride  in  it.  I  —  am  able  to  claim 
myself  as  your  kinswoman  —  though  far  removed." 

"Not  so  far!"  he  corrected.  "You  may  remember  that 
I  recognized  you  as  kindred  even  when  awed  by  you,  and 
O'Donnell's  Dark  Rose  was  called  by  him  *  The  Flower  of 
Munster.'" 

She  looked  at  him  as  he  spoke  lightly  of  the  things  of 
which  he  had  written  as  a  religion. 

"I  have  found  many  of  my  Irish  cousins  in  the  ten 
years,"  she  said,  "but  not  one  of  them  is  like  you.  I  rode 
up  to  Templard  today,  but  all  is  different;  there  is  no 
hawthorn  blooming  and  no  white  lamb,  and  no  shepherd  of 
songs!" 

"  I  never  went  there  again,"  he  said  very  quietly.  "  It 
is  a  place  to  dream  about.  When  I  have  done  something 
of  use  to  Ireland  — of  real  use  — I  will  go  up  again  to  the 
old  temple.  It  has  always  been  sanctuary  to  me.  I  would 
wish  that  the  hawthorn  might  be  in  bloom  when  I  go 
again  — and  that  I  might  see  you  there  !" 

She  had  the  same  wish,  and  he  knew  it  without  words. 
The  childish  promise  of  tryst  when  his  songs  called 
her  back  to  Kerry  was  not  forgotten  by  either  of  them. 
Ten  years  of  life  in  the  world  had  dragged  their  long  days 
between  a  lad  and  a  maid  whose  hands  had  not  even 
touched,  yet  nothing  in  that  life  had  been  more  real  than 
their  dreams  of  each  other. 

[300] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


"I  must  go,"  she  said.  "It  is  wonderful  that  you 
returned  here  today  —  the  day  I  came  just  to  look  at  the 
place  where  you  had  once  lived !  I  wonder  if  I  will  ever 
see  you  again,  Hugh  Siod." 

"  I  think  you  will, "  he  said  ;  "  wherever  they  send  me  I 
will  find  my  way  back  some  time.  You  wear  the  green  — 
dear  color  of  hope,  which  is  all  that  is  left  to  Ireland! 
Hope  then  with  me  that  the  hawthorn  may  be  in  bloom 
when  I  do  come  —  hawthorn  time  is  the  glad  time,  and  the 
winter  left  behind." 

"I  will —  I  will!  "she  said. 

They  looked  at  each  other  steadily  and  turned  away.  He 
halted  once  to  watch  her  riding  swiftly  up  toward  the  far 
summit,  and  then  he  followed  Michal  to  the  cottage. 

"Would  you  look  at  that  now?"  demanded  Molly 
watching  afar,  "not  even  a  handshake  did  she  give  him  — 
and  she  all  fine  words  here  in  praise  of  his  writings !  Sure, 
the  quality  folk  is  a  puzzle  any  way  you  take  them,  and  it 
would  hurt  her  none  at  all  to  be  human  to  him  as  she 
was  to  us!" 


stars  were  out  when  the  lady  of  Argial  rode 
along  the  great  oak  avenue  from  the  forest,  and  had 
joy  in  the  night  odors  of  swelling  buds,  and  the 
promise  of  earth  that  winter  was  indeed  gone. 

A  leaping  light  against  the  windows  told  that  a  cheery 
fire  had  been  made,  more  for  the  brightness  of  it  than  the 
need  of  warmth.  And  she  thought  of  the  long  talk  there 
she  would  have  with  Jerry  over  the  strange  hour  at  Siod's 
eld  Kerry  home. 

[301] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

""''•  '  "  ""  i  — . 

But  when  she  reached  the  hall,  angry  voices  came  to 
her  ears,  and  she  faced  a  strange  scene  from  the  library 
door. 

Jerry,  on  his  crutch,  stood,  a  picture  of  helpless  fury, 
and  watched  Hector  Laud  of  Argial  tear  leaf  by  leaf  a 
book  apart,  and  toss  them  on  the  blaze. 

"I  will  have  no  smuggled  seditious  books  under  my 
roof,"  he  declared,  "  and  no  plotting  traitors ! " 

"  You  are  the  sort  of  man  to  make  traitors ! "  said  Jerry 
hotly.  "You  are  the  sort  of  man  against  whom  people 
rise  in  ever-widening  circles  until  it  is  called  Revolution! 
Can  you  put  lock  and  key  on  thoughts  by  burning  a 
thinker's  books?  I  will  not  stop  another  night  under  your 
damned  roof  if  I  have  to  hobble  on  crutches  over  the 
mountain ! " 

"Jerry!"  She  was  beside  him,  with  her  arms  about 
him  —  and  staring  hard  at  Laud,  who  calmly  continued  his 
task  instead  of  flinging  the  volume  at  once  to  the  flames. 

"  Rose,  Rose !  It  is  the  songs  of  Siod !  My  songs !  It 
is  brutal,"  muttered  Jerry,  and  before  either  realized  what 
she  was  doing  she  darted  forward  and  tore  the  remnants 
of  the  volume  from  the  grasp  of  her  husband. 

"  They  are  Ireland  itself,  the  very  spirit  of  Ireland !  And 
no  fire  ever  made  by  you  —  or  made  by  your  blood  —  can 
burn  that  spirit  out,  Hector  Laud ! "  she  said. 

The  men  were  no  more  astonished  than  herself  at  her 
act.  Laud  stared  at  her,  sneering,  incredulous. 

"  Irish  bombast ! "  he  remarked.  "  So  my  wife  is  also  a 
reader  of  this  forbidden  drivel  of  old  legends !  It  is  as  well 
I  came  unexpectedly  to  note  what  was  holding  you  so  long 
in  the  wilds  of  Kerry.  Is  my  castle  one  of  the  several  used 
in  these  days  for  traitorous  sedition?" 

"  Our  blood  breeds  no  traitors,"  she  replied  evenly, 
"neither  do  we  permit  insult.  Jerry  is  right.  You  can 

[302] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

i  = 

have  your  roof  for  your  own  usage.  A  thatched  cottage 
will  give  us  more  of  self-respect/* 

"  Don't  be  absurd ! "  suggested  Laud.  "  You  know  per 
fectly  well  I  won't  allow  you  to  go,  and  will  not  have  a 
scandal.  That  thing  in  your  hand  is  smuggled  literature 
of  a  pernicious  sort.  If  I  choose  I  could  put  your  brother 
under  arrest  for  having  it  here.  Burning  it  is  the  simple 
way  out." 

"  Legally,  I  suppose  he  is  right,  Rose,"  said  Jerry  at  last. 
"  I  don't  want  to  make  trouble  for  you.  Let  it  be  burned 
rather  than  that." 


boy  had  sunk  in  his  chair— rather  pale  and 
shaky  from  his  brief  fury.  She  put  her  arm  about 
him  with  a  wonderful  smile  in  her  eyes. 

"  There  are  different  ways  of  burning,"  she  said.  "  Sac 
rifices  are  offered  in  that  way." 

She  knelt  on  the  hearth  and  held  out  the  book  in  both 
hands,  looking  across  at  Jerry. 

"  This  is  my  sacrifice  for  my  soldier  brother,"  she  said, 
"that  he  may,  without  blemish,  fight  ever  in  the  right, 
for  Ireland!" 

She  laid  the  leaves  on  the  blaze  and  knelt  watching  until 
there  was  left  only  a  glowing  curl  of  ash.  Hector  Laud 
regarded  her  somberly.  Never  before  had  she  so  openly 
defied  him.  He  was  in  sullen  rage,  knowing  that  he  had 
gone  too  far,  and  his  rage  extended  to  the  book,  and  the 
writer  of  it. 

And  he  knew  himself  justified  in  his  rage  when  she  rose 
from  her  knees  and  smiled  on  Jerry. 

[303] 


'HE  DARK  ROSE 


"It  is  gone,  soldier  boy!"  she  said.  "The  pages  are 
gone  out  of  sight,  but  the  real  book  is  here,"  and  she 
touched  her  breast.  "  I  know  it  all  by  heart,  as  does  more 
than  one  of  the  Irish,  and  I  will  teach  it  all  over  to  you 
again ! " 


B  FORTNIGHT  later  the  hell  of  revolution  broke 
loose  in  Dublin,  and  a  reign  of  terror  ruled.    Wild 
fear  dominated  the  official  group,  and  strange  jail- 
yard  killings  sent  a  shudder  around  the  world.     Hector 
Laud  was  sharer  of  that  obloquy,  and  his  wife,  to  whom 
no  one  would  tell  the  truth,  divined  the  unspoken.     She 
shut  herself  in  a  room  apart,  and  refused  to  look  on  his 
face. 

Jerry  was  brought  to  her  there,  shot  and  speechless,  and 
gave  work  for  her  hands.  The  wound  temporarily  affected 
his  speech  and  he  had  lain  apparently  dead  for  over  an 
hour  in  the  barricaded  street  where  the  bullets  sang  theii 
death-song  over  him.  Then  some  stranger  had  gone  into 
that  inferno  after  him  and  got  him  to  safety.  Civilians 
were  forbidden  within  that  street,  and  the  stranger  had 
been  taken  before  the  military  authorities  to  answer  for  his 
humanity.  No  one  could  learn  what  had  become  of  him ; 
no  one  but  the  sister  of  the  boy  was  especially  interested, 
and  it  was  difficult  for  any  friend  to  seek  answers  to  her 
questions,  knowing  that  her  husband  was  the  one  man 
whose  information  concerning  suspects,  arrests,  and  exe 
cutions  was  absolutely  accurate.  He  could  tell  her  if  any 
one  could  —  but  no  one  could  even  hint  that  to  her !  Every 
friend  of  hers  was  shrouded  in  gloom  because  of  the  bond 

[304] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

between  them  — they  called  him  "Butcher  Laud"  when 
out  of  her  hearing. 

The  second  day  Jerry  could  articulate,  but  his  nerves 
were  a  jangle,  and  his  eyes  pleaded  with  her. 

"Kerry,  Kerry!"  he  whispered  over  and  over.  The 
physician  listened  and  assented. 

"  Get  him  out  of  this  if  you  can.  Everyone  he  sees  here 
is  filled  with  the  devil's  own  horrors  we've  been  going 
through.  By  all  means  get  him  to  the  hills  where  there  is 
peace." 

Jerry  whispered  for  "  Siod,"  once  or  twice,  but  no  one 
knew  where  to  find  Siod. 


O  >!!!!< 


IT  was  the  last  week  in  April,  gloriously  bright,  and 
the  warm  sun  calling  out  patches  of  bloom  in  every 
southern  nook.    The  green  grass  was  springing,  and 
the  coils  of  fern  uncurling  in  wood  and  sedgy  marge. 

She  rode  west  to  Kerry  in  a  curious  trance-like  state 
with  the  wounded  boy  and  a  nurse.  There  were  moments 
when  she  felt  the  after-effects  of  some  shock  she  had  lived 
through,  though  the  actual  shock,  or  the  nature  of  it,  had 
been  forgotten! 

She  wakened  herself  sobbing  of  some  unknown  sorrow, 
and  the  eyes  of  Jerry  followed  her  in  mute  question.  He 
could  whisper  disjointed  words,  but  was  forbidden  attempt 
t  conversation.  Rest  and  nursing  were  his  only  need. 
The  wound  coming  so  soon  after  his  former  convalescence 
had  been  too  heavy  a  strain  for  quick  recuperation  — yet 
he  would  recover  and,  as  the  physician  said,  live  to  fight 
again. 

[305] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

=      ,      ..  •    ,    •'      .   .  = 

The  very  birds  of  the  air  appeared  to  be  bearers  of  dis 
aster  to  the  hills,  for  there  was  no  welcome  there  for  the 
family  of  Argial ;  herdsmen  and  farmers  who  once  met  her 
with  the  smile  of  welcome  on  every  road  now  turned  aside 
in  the  hidden  boreens,  or  crouched  back  of  hedges  as  she 
walked  abroad. 

Shamas  Ronayne  alone  came  to  her,  a  frail  old  white 
figure  in  gray,  and  driving  the  white  donkey  of  Michal 
Bonn. 

"None  other  would  be  coming  for  question  to  a  Laud 
of  Argial,  and  I  am  the  one  coming,"  he  said.  "  What  may 
happen  to  me  is  as  nothing  at  all,  for  my  time  is  near,  and 
none  to  sorrow." 

"  I  will  sorrow,"  said  the  lady  of  Argial.  "  The  very  land 
itself  sorrows  for  every  man  like  you  who  passes.  You 
are  of  the  living  records  of  the  unwritten  things  —  the 
sacred  things." 

"  It  is  of  the  lad,"  he  said.  "  He  was  to  come  back  once, 
or  send  word  back  to  us  once,  when  he  had  given  his  mes 
sage  in  Dublin  and  joined  a  regiment.  No  word  has  come, 
and  it  is  nearing  a  month.  He  was  not  of  the  revolution, 
for  his  message  to  them  was  a  different  one  entirely. 
Kerry  and  Cork  he  reached  in  time,  but  Dublin  he  could 
not  have.  His  name  is  not  heard  of,  though  many  are 
asking." 

"  Yes,  my  own  brother  is  asking  —  and  my  own  heart  is 
asking." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  new,  wondrous  look  of  com 
prehension,  and  tears  shone  in  the  unfaded  blue  of  his 
strangely  youthful  eyes.  He  touched  her  green  sleeve,  as 
he  might  have  touched  the  sacrament. 

"  Ah !  '  Rose  of  Kerry ! '  I  should  have  known,  I  should 
have  known!"  he  said.  Her  eyes,  darkest  gray,  shaded 
darker  by  black  lashes,  met  his  gaze  steadily  and  in  pride. 

[306] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


His  own  eyes  closed,  and  he  murmured  a  prayer  at  what  he 
saw  there. 

"It  has  been  always,  I  think,"  she  said.  "I  was 
as  a  child  walking  in  sleep  —  and  he  called  me 
awake!" 

"Aye!  And  your  voice  would  now  be  calling  him  to 
answer  if  any  voice  could/'  said  Shamas.  "  I  have  been 
walking  the  glen  paths  in  the  night  with  a  great  fear  on 
me,  and  no  shape  to  that  fear.  *  Before  the  hawthorn  is 
in  bloom,'  was  what  he  said  at  his  going  away,  but  the 
buds  have  opened  surely  on  Templard,  and  no  word  com 
ing  !  The  man  they  wedded  you  to  is  the  man  who  knows 
all  things  of  them  in  prison,  and  them  who  were  killed 
there.  I  —  we  all  had  thought  that  you  would  surely  be 
knowing." 

"Shamas,"  she  whispered,  and  then  again  in  growing 
horror  —  "  Shamas !" 

"Aye,"  he  answered.  "There  are  fearful  hearts  wait 
ing  the  words,  but  none  would  be  asking  an  Argial,  barring 
myself  —  and  it  is  you  I  am  asking." 

"  And  I  am  no  Argial ! "  she  said.  "  I  am  only  a  woman 
of  Ireland,  this  day.  If  a  crime  has  been  done  against  him, 
Argial  must  answer!" 


HE    sent    message    by    wire    so    imperative    that 
some    reply   must   come   back.     After   that   there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  the  waiting,  and  Shamas 
she  would  not  let  go. 

They  talked  long,  and  their  speech  was  all  of  him,  and 
she  told  him  of  their  childlike  game  of  the  fairy  queen  and 

[307] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

== 

the  Irish  prince  who  found  her  in  the  shadows  of  the  druid 
temple  on  Templard. 

"  I  mind  well  the  day,"  said  Shamas,  "  for  on  the  hearth 
stone  that  night  he  wrote  the  poem-tale  of  the  Dark  Rose 
of  Red  Hugh  O'Donnell,  and  it  blooming  again  in  Kerry 
for  fragrance  to  all  Ireland  —  alive  and  blooming  after 
three  centuries  of  heavy  feet  trampling  it  in  the  mire !  He 
worked  all  the  night  at  it,  and  his  eyes  alight  and  no 
weariness  on  him!  Molly  was  in  a  fair  fright  over  it,  for 
he  said  he  was  writing  a  dream  he  had  in  a  fairy  rath  — 
and  it  the  eve  of  Beltain !  As  this  is." 

"This?"  she  said,  and  stared  at  him. 

"  Aye,  what  else?  In  the  cities  the  people  are  forgetting 
them  old  days  of  the  fields  and  the  new  bloom,  but  here  we 
are  not  forgetting,  for  it  ends  the  black  winter  for  us  and 
gives  us  hope  of  harvests  to  come." 

"  And  I  forgot ! "  Her  voice  was  incredulous.  "  Shamas, 
my  mind  has  been  full  of  him,  yet  for  the  first  time  in  ten 
years  I  forgot!  Since  last  Wednesday  I  have  walked  as 
in  a  trance,  and  I  seem  to  have  lost  dates  or  records  of 
time.  Beltain  to  come  :  —  and  I  to  forget !  Why,  it  was 
like  a  tryst-time,  a  day  to  wish  myself  back  on  Templard, 
and  hear  his  voice  again  there  —  his  young  voice  singing." 

"  Wednesday,"  mused  Shamas.  "  That  was  the  night  I 
walked  sleepless.  The  restlessness  would  not  take  itself 
away.  So  —  Sunday  and  all  as  it  is,  I  could  stand  it  no 
longer,  and  took  the  road  to  you." 

"Sunday?"  she  repeated.  "I  had  forgotten  that  also! 
The  hour  has  gone  by  when  an  answer  could  reach  me  by 
wire  on  a  Sunday  !  It  will  be  morning  now  before  we  can 
get  it,  but  you  must  not  go  back  until  it  comes.  You  are 
the  only  comforting  soul  near  me." 

"I  could  not  sleep  under  the  roof  of  Argial,"  said 
Shamas. 

[308] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

"  Neither  will  I  this  night,"  she  said,  "  but  you  can  rest, 
and  wait,  and  what  I  can  do  for  your  comfort  I  will." 


twilight  crept  through  the  dusky  wood,  and  quiet 
settled  over  the  sombre  mass  of  gray  Argial.  A  star 
glimmered  here  and  there  in  the  deepening  sky. 

She  paced  her  chamber  alone  —  waiting! 

A  lad  passed  through  a  far  meadow  singing  a  love-song 
to  some  mate  of  the  thatched  roofs,  and  she  paused  at  the 
window  listening  until  the  last  sound  died  away  —  but  it 
was  another  voice  of  which  she  was  thinking. 

"  And  this  night !  "  she  murmured.  "  This  sleepless  night 
of  the  tryst-time !  Ah,  to  be  but  once  on  Templard  under 
the  stars  —  and  his  young  voice  singing  there  carefree  as 
before!" 

She  walked  away  from  the  window  and  the  witcheries  of 
the  thought.  She  lit  a  reading-lamp,  and  picked  up  a  little 
book — Meyers'  translation  of  the  fragments  of  verse  of 
Lladan  and  Kurithir.  The  ancient  love-story  of  the  two  poets 
had  its  own  fascination  for  her  always,  but  this  time  her 
eyes  rested  on  one  verse  and  did  not  go  beyond.  It  was 
Liadan's  recognition  of  the  forbidden  voice  singing  its  love 
to  her — 

"Beloved  Is  the  dear  voice  I  hear! 
I  dare  not  welcome  it. 
But  this  onl\)  do  I  say: 

Beloved  is  the  dear  voice!'' 

She  sat  quite  still,  looking  at  it.  Her  dark  eyes  grew 
darker,  wider;  every  sense  seemed  suddenly  alert  in  a  new 
way.  Her  breath  was  stilled  to  listen;  no  sound  broke 

[309] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

the  darkness  or  echoed  in  the  halls  —  yet  far  away  beyond 
—  above  —  she  felt  the  vibrations  of  wordless  harmonies! 
They  passed,  and  left  her  staring  at  the  words : 

"Beloved  Is  the  dear  voice  I  hear 
I  dare  not  welcome  if/" 

She  arose,  took  from  a  closet  a  long-hooded  cloak  of 
green,  and  turned  out  the  light. 

"  But  I  dare,"  she  whispered,  and  slipped  out  and  down 
to  the  stables  in  the  moonless  night ! 


o 


H ROUGH  the  gray  forest,  darkening  to  green,  she 
rode.  And  over  the  high  moor  the  black  horse  sped 
like  a  night-bird  skimming  the  earth.  She  was  filled 
with  a  great  exultation  —  the  cloud  under  which  she  had 
been  oppressed  seemed  to  lift  when  she  emerged  from  the 
forest  of  Argial.  She  knew  she  was  doing  the  thing  she 
had  longed  to  do  always  —  and  if  there  was  but  hawthorn 
abloom  on  the  height  it  would  be  recompense! 

Willingly  and  joyously  the  horse  ran  to  the  first  circle 
of  the  rath,  but  beyond  that  he  would  not  go !  In  vain  she 
whispered  —  in  vain  she  petted  and  caressed  him.  He 
planted  his  feet  and  pointed  his  ears  and  reared  only  to 
come  down  again  in  the  same  spot.  She  walked  him 
quietly  to  a  different  point  and  tried  again  —  nearer  he 
would  not  approach. 

She  slid  from  his  back  and  petted  him  —  he  was  wet  and 
trembling. 

"  This  then  must  be  the  place  of  parting,"  she  whispered. 
"Why  should  you  have  fear  of  it?" 

[310] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

She  wondered  why  she  whispered  where  there  were  none 
to  hear,  but  could  not  answer  her  own  query.  There 
seemed  to  be  utter  stillness  on  the  world,  and  she  scarce 
heard  her  own  footfalls  as  she  went  up  and  up  over  the 
circles,  her  eyes  straining  for  first  glimpse  of  the  hawthorn 
—  if  it  should  not  be  in  bloom! 

But  it  was.  Even  in  the  night  without  moon  she  could 
see  the  soft  white  of  it,  and  as  she  crossed  the  third 
circle  the  whiteness  of  it  grew  more  clear  until  she  glanced 
above  to  see  what  sudden  light  of  star  was  reflected  by  it. 

The  sky  was  the  same,  and  the  stars  were  the  same ;  the 
mass  of  bloom  gave  out  its  own  soft  radiance  in  the  night. 

And  besides  the  bloom  there  was  a  movement.  She 
heard  a  breaking  branch,  and  halted  there,  breathless, 
listening! 

Then  his  voice  —  the  voice  she  had  listened  for  —  the 
voice  like  no  other  —  spoke. 

"  Come  no  nearer!  "  it  said.  "  I  broke  the  hawthorn  for 
you  and  have  waited  four  days  and  four  nights  —  longer  I 
may  not.  Hush !  Do  not  speak  to  me !  I  know  the  thing 
you  would  know  —  and  the  thing  Shamas  has  asked  —  and 
it  is  for  you  to  see." 

She  did  not  speak,  for  she  could  not!  A  strange  cold 
wall  seemed  to  circle  her,  and  her  eyes  were  drawn  to  the 
shadow  of  the  cromlechs  where  the  two  had  once  sheltered 
from  storm.  She  peered  forward  as  dim  light  fell  on  the 
darkness  under  the  arch  —  and  through  it  —  as  if  far  away, 
and  seen  through  reversed  opera  glasses,  she  perceived  men 
in  uniform  —  other  men  in  civilian  dress  —  a  stone  wall 
very  high  —  and  a  man  there  who  appeared  to  dominate  — 
it  was  Hector  Laud  of  Argial.  Men  with  rifles  passed 
across  the  scene,  and  a  man  under  guard  entered.  He 
wore  a  cap,  and  her  heart  leaped  and  then  grew  cold  — 
cold  as  her  speechless  lips. 

[311] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

— — — -       •  -•   "•      •  •  -    •  •  •      •     '->••-      •-  — =• 

He  was  questioned  by  Argial,  and  by  others ;  he  shook 
his  head.  He  spoke,  but  she  could  not  hear  the  words. 
Once  he  smiled  at  them  in  a  tired  way,  as  at  some  question 
many  times  answered.  Argial  turned  aside  and  made  a 
sign ;  a  man  with  a  white  handkerchief  folded  it  and  moved 
forward,  but  the  man  alone  by  the  wall  waved  him  away. 
He  removed  his  cap  and  let  it  fall  beside  him  on  the 
paving;  he  spoke  a  brief  word  or  two,  looking  straight 
ahead  as  if  into  her  eyes,  and  then  stepped  back  against 
the  wall  and  made  a  signal.  The  wind  tossed  aside  the 
lock  of  bronze-gold  hair  on  his  forehead  and  he  stood  an 
instant  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

Then  something  happened,  and  he  sank  forward  and  lay 
there  and  shadows  blotted  all  out  as  the  men,  Hector 
Laud  among  them,  bent  over  the  fallen  body ! 

"  That  is  how  it  was,"  she  heard  him  say.  "  I  have  at 
last  done  something  for  the  land,  and  so  dared  come  again 
to  meet  you  here.  O  Dark  Rose  —  I  have  sung  your  songs 
as  I  could  —  but  strength  is  going  again.  Hush  —  do  not 
speak!  You  will  rest  and  wake  to  find  the  hawthorn 
abloom.  You  will  grieve  —  but  green  hope  will  cover  your 
life!  You  will  not  be  without  love  —  without  music!" 

He  moved  out  from  the  screen  of  the  white  bloom,  and 
the  radiance  of  it  shone  on  his  face,  grave  and  pale.  In  his 
left  hand  he  bore  the  broken  branch;  his  eyes  were  lumi 
nous  and  wonderful  in  the  starlight. 

A  puff  of  wind  blew  aside  the  curls  over  his  forehead, 
and  she  would  have  cried  out  if  she  could,  for  a  dark  mark 
was  there  —  the  open  path  of  the  lead  of  death!  He  lifted 
his  hand,  and  it  also  was  pierced. 

"No,"  he  said,  reading  her  thought,  "they  do  not  use 
nails  in  palms  today  for  their  crucifixions,  but  we  still  die 
—  guiltless!" 

She  strove  to  break  through  the  frozen  silence  in  which 

[312] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


she  was  locked  — only  to  speak  to  him  once  —  once !  Only 
to  tell  him  — 

But  his  luminous  eyes  forbade,  though  the  smile  there 
was  the  smile  of  perfect  understanding.  Music  came  from 
somewhere  about  them  —  the  suantre  by  which  earth-cares 
are  silenced  —  she  felt  her  eyes  closing  under  its  magic  — 
many  harp  strings  were  sounding  softly  afar  off  —  was  it 
the  lullaby  he  had  once  sung  to  her  under  the  druid  arch? 
She  did  not  know  —  she  was  so  nearly  wrapped  in  slumber. 

But  through  that  mist  of  far  harmonies  there  came  one 
clear,  low  voice  —  his  young  voice  singing  the  prophecy  of 
the  Dar^  Rosaleen. 

Your  holy  delicate  while  hands 

Shall  girdle  me  with  steel! 
And  I  will  rear  your  royal  throne 

Again  in  golden  sheen! 
'Tis  you  shall  reign,  and  reign  alone 

My  Dark  Rosaleen! 

My  Own  Rosaleen! 


IT  was  there  they  found  her  asleep  in  the  early  dawn, 
wrapped  in  the  green-hooded  cloak  and  the  spray 
of  hawthorn  across  her  breast. 

Only  Shamas  and  Hector  Laud  came  over  the  third 
circle,  and  Shamas  crossed  himself  at  the  sight. 

"It  is  a  priest  we  should  have  brought  with  us  to  this 
place,"  he  said,  "  for  no  living  woman  would  sleep  on 
Templard." 

Laud  of  Argial  was  blanched  by  fear,  and  halted  on  the 

[313] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

,~ 

edge  of  the  rath  and  called  to  the  man  holding  the  horses 
below. 

But  she  wakened  at  the  shout,  and  stood  up.  The  lan 
guor  of  sweet  sleep  was  still  on  her  eyes  and  she  smiled 
at  Shamas,  whose  gaze  was  the  first  to  meet  hers. 
The  hawthorn  fell  at  her  feet;  she  lifted  it,  looked  at 
the  dew  on  it  and  on  the  cloth  of  her  cloak  —  and  remem 
bered! 

Her  eyes  were  dark  lightning  as  she  faced  Argial. 
"  Not  one  step  nearer,  so  long  as  you  live,  and  may  yours 
be  a  long  life  —  and  remorseful ! "  she  said.    "  My  question 
to  you  has  been  answered  without  you,  and  this  place  is 
too  sacred  for  your  feet ! " 

"You  are  a  raving  madwoman,"  he  cried,  and  his  face 
flushed  red  in  anger.  "  Who  else  would  range  the  forests 
at  night  and  sleep  on  the  moors  alone?" 

"  I  was  not  alone,  Shamas,"  she  said,  ignoring  Argial  and 
looking  only  at  the  old  man.  "  He  was  with  me  here.  Yes 
—  he  kept  tryst  with  me  on  Templard  and  sang  me  to  sleep 
with  a  song  of  hope!  It  is  true,  Shamas!  He  came 
back  from  the  dead  to  do  that,  and  he  left  this  broken 
bloom  here  as  witness  when  I  would  waken;  it  is  true, 
Shamas!" 

"  I  believe  it  is  true,"  said  the  old  man,  "  for  sleep  was 
put  on  me,  too  —  a  heavy  sleep  of  rest  —  and  that  is  the 
first  sleep  coming  to  me  for  four  nights  —  his  soul  is  no 
longer  calling  us  to  hearken  —  God  and  Mary  save  him!" 
"Four  nights,"  she  repeated.  "Yes,  that  is  what  he 
said  —  four  days  and  nights  he  was  waiting  for  me,  and 
the  blossoms  held  for  me  here!" 

Laud  of  Argial  glared  at  the  two  and  uttered  an  oath  of 
destruction  on  the  old  man. 

"  Are  you  both  maniacs?  "  he  demanded.  "  How  did  you 
know  to  tell  us  to  follow  her  tracks  to  Templard?  And 

[314] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 

B-"-—       '        i    '  n  ii  -i     i      i     ~T 

who  is  the  lover  who  sings  you  to  sleep.  You  —  you  — 
shameless  with  your  peasant  mates ! " 

"  It  is  the  man  you  had  killed  in  secret  against  a  prison 
wall  four  days  ago,"  she  said  steadily,  but  without  looking 
at  him.  And  to  Shamas  she  said :  "  That  is  indeed  how 
Hugh  Siod  died !  He  saved  my  brother  and  died  for 
it.  Did  they  think  to  silence  his  songs  by  killing  the 
poet?" 

"  You  are  both  insane  rebels ! "  shouted  Argial.  "  A  sec 
ond  time  I  have  followed  you  to  this  place  of  secret  meet 
ings—and  it  will  be  the  last  — you  shall  go  in  a  locked 
room  of  Argial  until  you  are  sane  again ! " 

"I  will  go  in  no  room  of  Argial  ever  again,"  she  said. 
44  The  cart  of  Shamas  or  Michal  will  bring  my  wounded  to 
me  in  some  more  simple  abiding  place;  and  friends  will 
be  found." 

"They  will  surely,"  said  Shamas,  "and  honor  will  be 
y0urs  —  and  love  will  be  yours." 

"You  are  moon-struck  Irish  dreamers,  silly  as  chil 
dren!  Do  you  think  I  will  allow  you  to  disgrace  Argial 
with  a  scandal  of  this  sort?  You  will  go  back  with 
me  if  I  have  to  call  those  men  below  to  bind  and  carry 
you!" 

"  Man,"  said  Shamas,  stepping  between  them,  "  go  easy 
with  your  threats  in  Kerry.  She  has  but  to  call  out  to 
the  men  down  there  what  she  told  to  us  here  of  Hugh 
Siod  —  and  you  might  not  yourself  see  Argial  ever 
again!" 

"Stand  aside!     I  have  my  rights  —  she  is  mine  —  she 

is  —  " 

"  No ! "  said  Shamas  Ronayne  with  such  quiet  force  that 
Argial  moved  a  step  back  at  the  intensity  of  the  soft  voice. 
"  No,  Argial !  Rights  of  her  you  have  never  had,  and  there 
are  many  knowing  that!  She  was  traded  to  you  by  a 

[315] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


gambler  who  did  not  own  her  —  and  that  in  her  young, 
unknowing  years!  There  was  never  bond  of  right  be 
tween  you  two,  and  now  there  is  foul  murder  dividing 
you!" 

Argial  glared  cold  fury  at  the  incredible  peasant. 

"And  this  is  your  new  sort  of  courtier?"  he  sneered  at 
her ;  "  the  sweepings  of  the  mud-huts !  " 

She  drew  a  great  breath  of  freedom  and  shook  back 
the  hood  from  her  dark  hair.  The  first  rays  of  the  sun 
struck  the  gray  pillars  back  of  her,  and  the  white  haw 
thorn,  and  flooded  her  with  the  rosy  radiance  of  a  new  day. 

"  It  is,  indeed ! "  she  said,  and  a  throb  of  exultation  was 
in  her  voice.  "  Both  peasants  and  princes  come  from  the 
huts  of  our  land.  They  are  the  souls  to  whom  he  sung  of 
freedom  ;  they  will  be  my  courtiers  —  and  my  brothers, 
and  my  sons  !  Hugh  Siod  came  back  from  death  to  sing  a 
prophecy  here  to  me  —  I  will  live  among  his  people  and 
work  for  that  prophecy  all  my  days ! " 

Argial  scowled  from  her  to  the  stalwart  Kerry  man 
climbing  the  hill,  and  turned  away. 

Shamas  gazed  at  her  with  a  reflected  light  of  joy  on  his 
face.  ^ 

"O  Kathleen  na  Hulihan,  your  face  is  like  a  star,"  he  mur 
mured. 


aCCORDING  to  official  records  it  was  six  days  after 
Beltain  ere  the  dominating  political  group  of  Dub 
lin  Castle  was  forced  to  make  public  an  account  of 
the  execution,  without  trial,  of  the  writer,  whose  palm  and 
brain  were  pierced  by  the  same  bullet  in  the  jail-yard  on 

[316] 


THE  DARK  ROSE 


the  twenty-sixth  day  of  April  !  There  had  been  ten  days 
of  absolute  secrecy  covering  the  matter,  and  the  explana 
tion  of  Argial  to  his  superiors  concerning  its  ultimate 
publicity  gave  him  a  bad  hour. 

To  tell  them  that  a  girl  on  an  old  rath  on  a  Kerry  hill 
had  seen  a  vision  of  that  death,  and  could  not  be  silenced, 
was  an  absurdity  not  to  be  advanced. 

The  investigating  board  was  composed  of  hard-headed 
unimaginative  men,  and  Argial  preferred  reprimand  from 
them  for  lack  of  executive  ability,  rather  than  be  ridiculed 
by  them  for  repeating  any  such  curious  phantasies  as  those 
evolved  by  the  Irish  mind! 


[317] 


Traditional. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The  books  mentioned  below  have  been  of  much  assis 
tance  to  me  while  preparing  these  tales  of  Ancient  Ireland, 
and  I  hereby  express  my  indebtedness  to  the  authors  of 
the  respective  volumes. 

Graves,  Alfred  Perceval,  Songs  of  Erin.  Boosey  &  Co., 
London. 

Gregory,  Lady  Isabella  Augusta,  Book  of  Saints  and 
Wonders.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

Hull,  Eleanor,  Textbook  of  Irish  Literature.  Benziger 
Brothers. 

Hyde,  Douglas,  Literary  History  of  Ireland,  from  the  Earliest 
Times  to  the  Present  Day.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

Joyce,  Patrick  Weston,  Ancient  Irish  Music.  Longmans, 
Green  &  Co. 

Keating,  Geoffrey  (1570  P-1644  ?),  History  of  Ireland 
(Foras  Feasa  ar  Eirinri t  preface  signed  by  the  author 
in  1629). 

Mangan,  James  Clarence,  Complete  Poems.  P.  J. 
Kenedy  &  Sons. 

Meyer,  Kuno,  Translation  from  the  Book  of  Lismore. 
Petrie,  George,  Ancient  Collection  of  the  Music  of  Ireland. 

Annals  of  the  Four  Masters.  Compiled  by  three  schol 
ars  of  the  historic  O'Clery  house  and  Peregrin 
O'Duidenan,  the  historian  and  genealogist,  early 
in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  produced  by  John 
Colgan  in  1645.  The  annals  begin  with  the  deluge, 
and  close  with  the  year  1616. 

The  initial  letters  used  at  the  beginning  of  the  Tales, 
and  other  decorations  in  book  and  cover,  are  taken  from 
The  Book  of  Kelts,  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  beautiful 

f320] 


illuminated  vellum  in  the  known  world.  This  ancient 
volume  is  the  work  of  an  unnamed  Irish  monk  of  Kells 
monastery  in  the  seventh  century.  The  weird  and  com 
manding  beauty  of  the  pages  have  been  at  once  both  the 
inspiration  and  despair  of  artists  for  centuries,  and  the 
wonder  of  line  and  color  would  be  unbelievable  but  for  the 
ancient  manuscript  treasured  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 
The  soul  of  an  artist  went  into  the  precious  volume  known 
even  in  tenth-century  Europe  as  the  "wonder  of  the  Far 
Western  World." 

The  music  for  the  book  was  arranged  by  Geraldine  G. 
Saltzberg. 

All  quoted  verses  or  chants  are  in  italic. 

M.  E.  R. 


F321] 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


